Believer
by KBear143
Summary: Private Chris Green had a secret, but not much remains secret in an Army camp full of men. When Chris is discovered to be Christina, she persuades Colonel Sink and Lieutenant Winters to let her stay. But can she win over a company full of men she's been deceiving for a month? Will they ever accept a woman in their ranks? ** ALL OBVIOUS DISCLAIMERS- I own nothing but Christina**
1. Chapter 1

**BACK AGAIN WITH ANOTHER STORY, WONDERFUL READERS! MORE ONE-SHOTS IN THE WORKS, BUT THIS WILL OBVIOUSLY BE A MULTI. PLEASE REVIEW AND COMMENT, BECAUSE I NEED YOUR FEEDBACK... I'M UNDECIDED ON A DIRECTION FOR THIS ONE RIGHT NOW, AND I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE READERS WANT!**

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** CHRISTINA POV **

"I respect you wanting to serve your country, but with all due respect young lady, how in the hell did you expect to make it into the paratroops?"

Colonel Robert Sink sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, staring in disbelief and mild amusement at the eighteen-year-old girl standing at attention in front of him. I didn't blame him really. I could see what he must have seen. I must have seemed like a joke that someone was playing on him. My long hair was shorn off and I'd made an attempt to disguise the presence of breasts by wrapping them in bandages. A little of my inheritance money had gotten me through the paperwork and physical examinations, and pure determination and late night showers after the others were asleep had gotten me through the first few weeks of training. Then, Sobel had shoved me as we were running Currahee. I'd rolled and hit my head, and woke up on the side of the hill with Eugene Roe staring down at me in wide-eyed shock.

Something had cut me during the fall, and when Roe had pulled open my shirt to staunch the bleeding, the bandages that had concealed my true identity were revealed. Lieutenant Sobel had exploded. He was shrieking in anger, ordering the men gathered around me to keep running, except for Roe and Denver Randleman, who he ordered to carry me and follow him to Colonel Sink's office.

For the first time, I was worried. Not about getting caught, but about Bull. We were friends, and I hoped that Sobel wasn't going to suggest guilt by association. There was no reason for him, or any of the others, to be in trouble. They'd truly had no idea of my secret. That brought me to my other concern. Now that they knew that I'd been lying to them… that I was a woman… how would they react? Would they speak to me? If I were allowed to stay, which wasn't at all likely at this point, would they accept me?

None too happy to have to lug me down the mountain, Bull obeyed the order with his jaw clenched tightly. I waited until Sobel was ahead of us, out of earshot, and made an attempt to apologize.

"Bull, I'm really sorry about this."

He cut me off quickly, his voice still angry, growling "Don't, Chris. Or whatever your real name is. Just don't."

"Christina," I managed sadly. "My name is Christina."

The rest of the walk to Sink's office was a silent one. Along the way, Sobel pulled Lieutenant Winters into the mix as well, demanding to know if he had been aware of the situation. Of course, he had not, but Sobel marched our whole procession into the Colonel's office unannounced.

"What the hell is this all about?" Sink had demanded, unhappy at having been barged in on. "Sobel? Explain yourself."

"That," Sobel squawked, pointing at me, still cradled in Bull's arms, "is a woman, sir! A woman who has been hiding out in my company, parading herself around as one of the men!"

Bull put me on my feet and, despite his anger at me, held me steady until I regained my balance. I stood at attention before the Colonel, trying to appear unruffled. He appraised me for a moment, and then looked at the others. It was not a look of understanding.

"Permission to speak, sir."

"Granted."

"Sir, none of the men in this room knew anything. Nor did any other member of the company. They've all known me as Private Chris Green since my arrival, and I have made every effort to conceal my identity until today. There was an accident on Currahee, and when Roe attempted to treat me, they discovered that I was a woman. I'll take any punishment you deem fit, sir, but please don't blame any of them."

He sighed and crossed his arms, leaning back against the desk and studying me for a moment. At last, he agreed and dismissed Gene and Bull back to the barracks. Winters, still shocked at the discovery, and Sobel, ever smug at the idea of one of us being punished, remained behind me as the Colonel finally addressed me.

"I respect you wanting to serve your country, but with all due respect young lady, how in the hell did you expect to make it into the paratroops?"

"With all due respect, Colonel, I've made it this far."

"Fair enough. But do you really think that you can make it through some of the most rigorous training in the military? You're a woman. Are these men going to respect you?"

"No!" interjected Sobel. "The men will want nothing to do with her, or she will be a distraction to them! She will wind up pregnant or…"

"Enough, Herbert. Let her explain herself."

"Sir, I should have as much chance to make it through this training as any man here. If I can't, then I'm gone. I understand that. With regard to the men, I'm not sure. I know that many of them are probably angry at having been fooled over the last few weeks, but from what I know of these men, they respect those who work hard and earn that respect. I believe that I can earn it if I am given the opportunity to do so, and I won't stop trying until I do."

"Why? Why are you here, Private Green? Surely there must be something else an attractive, intelligent young woman could be doing. What does your family think of this?"

"I have no family, sir. I'm an orphan. I received a sizeable inheritance and went to nursing school. My teachers saw potential and had me posted at a military hospital. Someone came through discussing the possibility of some of the doctors training as paratroopers, and I saw an opportunity to serve my country and, perhaps, save lives. I'm determined, a quick learner, and I grew up hunting, so I can shoot. That, in addition to my medical training, will make me an asset to this company, sir. Just give me the opportunity to prove it to you. Please. I have nothing and no one to go home to."

Behind me, Sobel snorted derisively, but the Colonel was studying me now. His eyes held mine, and as they probed my pleading stare, they seemed to soften a bit. Surprisingly, Winters voice broke the silence.

"Sir? If I may?" Sink, still looking at me, gave a small nod and Winters stepped up beside me and continued, "Thus far in the training, Private Green has proven capable and hard-working. I know it's unusual, but since she has already made it this far, couldn't we at least allow her the opportunity to prove her assertions? I see little reason to prevent her from continuing as, if she is not capable, that will soon be discovered. With regard to the men, if you are concerned, we could quarter her with the officers until such time as we feel she is accepted as one of them or she leaves training. I'll take personal responsibility for her until then."

Instantly, the weeks of pain, secrecy, and work were worth it. Winters was universally respected, and the fact that he was willingly vouching for me meant a great deal. Sobel was incredulous, but Winters' endorsement also, apparently, carried weight with the Colonel.

"You think she's worth all that trouble, Dick? You're willing to take this young woman into the officers' barracks, and to look out for her despite the fact that there is a strong possibility that the men will be reluctant to accept her? You're going to protect her from those that may try to… take liberties… with a seemingly vulnerable young woman?"

Winters nodded.

"I think she's earned the opportunity to prove her assertions in this office that she could be an asset to the paratroops. I also believe that, when all is said and done, she will earn the respect of Easy Company, such that she will no longer be in need of my protection."

"Well then, Lieutenant Winters, I will give you both the opportunity to prove me wrong. Private Christina Green, you will remain a member of Easy Company, under the direct supervision of Lieutenant Winters. You will gather your belongings and report to the officers' barracks until such time as it is deemed appropriate for you to quarter with the enlisted men. The two of you will report to me once a week, at which time Winters will provide me with reports of your progress. Mind you, I will be doing some observation of my own. Prove me wrong, Private Green. Dismissed."

Sobel stayed behind to argue, although it appeared through the window that Sink was merely humoring him rather than actually listening at this point. As the door closed, I breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at my new guardian.

"Thank you, sir. You didn't have to do that."

His face was serious, but his voice was soft.

"There was too much conviction in your voice for me not to, Private. Now all you have to do is prove me right, make it through training, and earn the respect of a bunch of young, macho men so laden with testosterone that they volunteered to jump out of planes for a living. No pressure. Come on. Let's go get your belongings and get you settled. A woman in the barracks? Nixon is going to be like a kid on Christmas morning."

No pressure indeed. When we reached the barracks I had originally been assigned to, it seemed that every single member of Easy Company was inside, and the volume of the conversation drifting out the door left little mystery as to the topic. Nor did the way that they all stopped and stared when Winters and I walked in. The roar became a silence so complete that I could hear the sand shuffling beneath the feet of a few of them as they shifted to get a look at the woman who'd been hiding amongst them for the better part of a month.

I moved to my former bunk, the weight of their gazes heavy on me as I gathered my belongings and bedclothes and folded them into my footlocker. Bull's bunk had been nearest to mine, and he stood between them now, refusing to look at me. Instead, he spoke to Lieutenant Winters.

"I hope Sobel doesn't punish us for this, sir. Maybe now that she's leaving, we can…"

"She's not leaving, Private Randleman."

"She's not?"

A rumble of disbelief went around the room, but Lieutenant Winters held up his hand.

"Private Christina Green remains a member of Easy Company. She has made it this far. Because of that, she persuaded me and, in turn, Colonel Sink, that she deserves the opportunity to continue training for the time being. If she can't keep up, she will leave, just as any man in her position would. I have every confidence that she will earn your respect, and prove to be a valuable member of this company. However, in the interest of making sure that no one is more uncomfortable than necessary, Colonel Sink has ordered her to move to the officers' barracks under my supervision until further notice. I trust that you will not purposely make her life any more difficult based on her gender."

When he had finished speaking, he lifted the other end of the footlocker I was dragging and led me out the door, the silence following us as we left. His confidence in me could result in only two things. One, their respect for him would mean that they would grudgingly give me a chance, or two, they would lose respect for him because he had stood up for me. I really hoped it would be the former, but I didn't have much time to send up prayers before we reached my new billet and walked inside.

"Well, here we are. Home, sweet home. This one next to mine is empty."

"What the hell is this?" Nixon demanded, looking between Winters and I for an explanation. "I come back from a mail run and we've got a woman in the company? You know that Sobel is furious, right? There is no way he's going to let her get through training."

Winters started to speak on my behalf, but I beat him to it, responding emphatically.

"All due respect, Lieutenant Nixon, but whether I get through training or not is the one thing that is completely within my control. I will not let that haughty brass-polisher break me."

Beside me, Winters chuckled at the surprised look on his friend's face. Nixon crossed his arms over his chest and squinted at me, trying to determine if I was serious. At last, he broke into a wide grin and shook his head.

"Future paratrooper, Private Christina Green, huh? Well, go get 'em, tiger."


	2. Chapter 2

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Men, I regret to inform you that Colonel Sink sees fit to allow this lying trollop to remain a member of Easy Company until such time as she proves herself incapable. While I trust that it won't take too long, you are to report directly to me if she attempts to seduce you or if you notice that she is distracting others. I will not have the finest company in the regiment fall prey to the feminine wiles of a jezebel."

Such were Sobel's first words at the following morning's formation. He called me to the front, turned me to face the men, and launched into the speech I'm sure he'd spent all night rehearsing. In front of me, Lieutenant Winters flinched at his words, letting me know that at least one person was uncomfortable with the abuse. Sobel wasn't finished though.

"Private Christina Green, let me be the first to say that you do not belong here. I don't care to know whose bed you graced, or how much of your parents' money you paid to sneak in. You said that you felt you could earn the respect of these men. I'm convinced that you are a spoiled, delusional tramp in desperate need of a dose of reality, but apparently Colonel Sink and Lieutenant Winters need some convincing so, as punishment for your failure to properly identify yourself and proof that you will never be accepted as a member of Easy, your orders are as follows. In addition to all PT and training done with the company, starting tomorrow you will run Currahee twice a day on your own. You will report one hour early, run once in the morning, complete regular training, and run once in the evening before you are dismissed. This will continue until you are able to convince the members of this company to report with you, in full pack, to run the mountain. We'll see just how much respect you can earn."

Some of the men suppressed laughter. Some looked shocked. Some had the grace to look uncomfortable. None of them looked confident. We were dismissed for breakfast and most of the crowd brushed by me as though I weren't even standing there. Only Bull slowed down long enough to meet my eyes, but when I started to speak, he shook his head and walked away. I watched him go until Nixon's voice came from behind me.

"You still sure you want to do this, Private?"

"Christina, sir. Or just Chris. And yes, I'm sure of myself. It's everyone else that worries me."

He smirked and glanced over at Winters.

"Alright, tiger. Let's see what you got."

And so it went for the next couple of months. It was no surprise that the company didn't rush right out in full pack to relieve me from the burden of two extra runs a day. Sobel had known that they wouldn't. So had I. But I had vowed to earn their respect, and I would do it or die in the attempt.

Fridays were always the worst. While other companies were kicking off their weekends at the movies or a local pub, Captain Sobel saw fit to add twelve mile night marches to our repertoire. For extra fun, he had us fill our canteens and then forbade us to drink from them. This typically left me little time between my second solo Currahee run and forming up for the march, so I spent most of my weekends combating the effects of dehydration. The men, most of whom still barely acknowledged my existence, began wagering on when I would wash out.

It was, I suppose, a distraction from their misery to bet on mine. They didn't even try to disguise it. Sobel, now a captain, found it amusing and frequently brought it up in formation, demanding a cut from the winner if he was able to make me quit on a particular day. It was on one such hellish Friday that he saw an opportunity to crush my spirit and that of the newly-minted 1st Lieutenant Winters in one fell swoop.

I'd completed my morning run, and we had gone through our morning training routine. Then, in preparation for a light afternoon of classroom instruction, Sobel had Winters, acting as Mess Officer, feed the company a hearty lunch of spaghetti, as much as they could eat. It was only once every man had eaten at least one heaping plateful that Sobel came bursting through the door, gleefully announcing that plans had been changed. We were running Currahee. I had purposely eaten light in preparation for my evening run, but the idea of going up that hill two more times, and completing our traditional Friday night march, had me nauseated anyway. Even as they grumbled around me, I didn't miss a few opportunists approaching George Luz, the company bookie, on the way out the door.

"Hey, Luz," prodded Christenson. "I got twenty that says she doesn't make it till tomorrow. No way she runs the hill three times, full of spaghetti, and then finishes a march tonight."

It didn't seem to bother him that I was walking not ten feet away from their group, obviously hearing every word, as we hurried to change into our PT gear. Luz didn't seem fazed by my presence either, discussing my fate as though they were preparing to watch a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Only one man walking among them seemed annoyed with the conversation.

"Alright, Pat. I got you down. Bull, you want some of this action? You could buy a lot of cigars with what I've got on the books right now."

Bull glanced over at me, the first to acknowledge my presence, and then back at Luz. The rest of the group followed his eyes, although none of them had the courtesy to look sheepish at having been overheard. They talked to me only when they had to as it was. They certainly weren't about to let me spoil their fun. Luz prodded Bull again, just as I was ducking into the officers' barracks.

At last, Bull responded gruffly, "I already placed my bet."

"Yeah, but don't you think…?"

"I already placed my bet, George. I'm sticking with it."

Half an hour later, even I was tempted to put a little money down. I was miserable, and all around me, the men who had been packing away pasta were now leaving it alongside the road as we ran. Sobel circled awkwardly through the rough formation, screeching insults at anyone he deemed weak. Eventually, he made it to me.

"Just think, Private Green. You get to do this all over again as soon as you get back to the bottom. Then, you still have the Friday night march to look forward to. All you have to do is quit. Admit that you're a spoiled, pretentious, lying, weak little girl who doesn't deserve to wear wings and jump boots. You oughta go home, marry some 4-F as worthless as you, and have babies. You'll never make it. It's only a matter of time. You're a wash out. Might as well make it today."

"We pull up on the risers; we fall upon the grass…"

George Luz's voice rang out the cadence, interrupting Sobel's stream of abuse. He was immediately joined by Randleman and Winters, and finally by the rest of the company. I wasn't sure who was more surprised at the gesture, the Captain or me, and in that moment, although I was sure that it had been more to drown out the incessant bullshit than to boost my morale, I felt like maybe I'd turned a corner.

Sobel wasn't having it though. He allowed my illusion of hope to continue through the remainder of that run and my next one, but with an hour left before our Friday night march, he refused to allow me to drink any water. Given that I, like most of Easy, had gotten sick from the spaghetti, I was more dehydrated than usual. All twelve miles were excruciating as my stomach rolled and my muscles cramped. Nixon noticed my distress within the first couple of miles.

"Chris, you don't look so good."

"I'm okay, sir."

"You look like you're in pain. Did you hurt yourself on your runs today?"

"No sir," I answered, briefly explaining the cramps and Sobel's refusal to let me hydrate, at which he and Winters exchanged irritated looks.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell is he trying to do?"

"I don't know, sir. Maybe he figures if he can't make me quit, he'll force me out on medical. After all, I did say that I'd get my wings or die trying… but I didn't expect him to take it quite this literally."

He, Winters and, to my surprise, several of the men within my earshot, actually chuckled at my attempt to find some humor in the situation. No one was laughing or, to my relief, placing bets when we finished the march though. Christenson had taken a drink from his canteen. It was empty before the rest as we dumped the water out onto the ground, and Sobel pegged him immediately.

"You have disobeyed a direct order! You will refill your canteen and repeat all twelve miles of the march immediately," he barked, glancing around for any dissension in the ranks. Then, his eyes fell on me and the corner of his lip turned upward in a twisted smirk. "Private Green, you will join him."

Around me, I heard some sharp intakes of breath and a few grumbles. This seemed unfair, even for the skirt that they barely spoke to. It wasn't difficult to see that I was not in good shape. Sobel couldn't resist adding one more brick onto the load though.

"If Christenson and Green both complete this march, the company will have passes restored for the remainder of the weekend. If they do not, we will drill all weekend long."

No pressure. I sighed and filled my canteen. Twelve more miles. Twelve more miles until I could collapse into a bed for the next two days. I didn't know if I had twelve steps left in me, but I did the only thing I could. I put one foot in front of the other. Dizzy, I stumbled and fell somewhere around the halfway point. A hand went under my arm to lift me off the ground and help me steady myself.

"Are you okay, Green?"

"It's Chris, and yeah. I'll be fine. Everything is just kinda fuzzy."

"You're dehydrated and you've been on your feet all day long. You need a medic."

"No. I'll worry about that when I finish. I have to finish."

"Why? Because of the stupid passes? It's not worth dying over, Chris. I'll tell everyone you tried your best."

"It's not the passes. It's not like this is winning me points with any of the boys, and if you go sticking up for me, they'll probably just give you hell. I'm just not gonna let that bastard beat me. You don't understand, Christenson. I said I'd make it or die trying, and that's exactly what I intend to do."

"Call me Pat. And fine. If you insist on being stubborn and borderline suicidal, at least keep talking so that I can tell you're still with me. If you collapse out here, it means that much more that I have to carry back," he teased lightly, elbowing me, but catching me again when I stumbled. He shook his head and laughed, "You might be the most stubborn person I've ever met, and considering some of the guys around here, that's saying something. Rumor has it that you're a rich, spoiled daddy's girl. What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

The look on his face was one of genuine interest, the first look of that nature I'd seen, outside of the officers, since it had been revealed that I was a woman. I filled him in on the story. My being an only child, orphaned by a car accident. My sizeable inheritance that had come, not because I had grown up particularly wealthy, but because my parents had been wise with their money and investments, and because our house had sold for a decent profit when I left home. How I'd managed to sneak into Easy. We talked about nursing school and guns, and he told me a bit about his own decision to join the paratroopers. He kept me walking and talking all the way back to camp, where Captain Sobel stood with Winters and several of the men, waiting to see if we would finish.

Colonel Sink stood beside them, apparently conducting one of his surprise check-ups on my progress, and as we stood at attention, he remarked, "Well, Captain, I do believe that Easy Company has earned a weekend off."

We were begrudgingly granted the promised passes and dismissed. I managed to hold myself together until Sink and Sobel were out of sight, before taking a couple of steps and collapsing into an exhausted heap.

"Shit, Chris! Lieutenant, can you help me get her into her bunk?" I heard Pat ask.

"I've got Christina," came a familiar Arkansas drawl, and I felt myself being lifted off the ground. "Someone get a medic."

I was laid on a bed, and I could feel the flurry of activity around me. Eugene Roe, training as Easy's medic, said that I needed fluids, and an unfamiliar voice mentioned an intravenous solution. I blinked my eyes open and saw Roe, the camp doctor, Winters, Nixon, and a handful of Easy members huddled around me.

"You're gonna feel a stick, Green. We're gonna have to get some fluids into you, okay?"

"You know, Chris, if ya quit now, I'll cut you in on some of my winnings."

"You're a real peach, Pat. Thanks," I giggled weakly and he flashed me a grin.

"Hey, I try. But really, listen to the doc, okay? You're in bad shape."

I nodded. The doctor ordered everyone out but Roe, telling them that the only things I needed were fluids and rest.

"We'll be by to check on you tomorrow, okay?" Nixon reassured. "Pat's right. Resist your natural urge to be a stubborn ass. Do whatever the doc tells you."

"Are you kidding? As long as he doesn't send me to Currahee for the next two days, I'll do anything he wants. Just tell the boys to enjoy their weekend."

"I will, tiger."

For the first time in three months, my sleep, while always borne out of total exhaustion, was peaceful. Pat Christenson was willingly conversing with me and that was a start, however small. When I woke up again, it was Sunday, and Eugene Roe was sitting at my bedside with a tray of food. I'd lost a day and I was starving, but he offered me only a bite at a time, forcing me to eat slowly so as not to get sick.

"Feel like you can get up and walk around the room a little bit? Maybe step out and sit on the steps for a little sunshine? You need to get out of the bed some, if you can."

He helped me stand, walking beside me as a paced around the room for a moment, trying to get my legs back under me. They shook under my body weight, but they held. After a few minutes, we stepped out into the glaring sunlight and sat down. He repeated the process with me throughout the day until, at last, my body felt only the familiar exhaustion instead of the painful twisting of dehydration. Roe said that I had color in my cheeks again, and removed the needle from my arm before I went to bed.

"The doctor says he still doesn't want you moving around, so it looks like you'll be here a while longer. Just hang in there and get some rest, okay? You'll be back on your feet in no time."

The following morning, I awoke early, hoping to sneak out without the doctor noticing. His orders had been to remain and rest, but I couldn't run the risk that Sobel would use a medical excuse to drop me from training. We were leaving for Fort Benning and parachute training at the end of the week, and I was too close to fail now. I dressed quickly and headed out to meet the sadistic Captain for my Monday morning run, but as I rounded the building, I was met instead by Colonel Sink. He didn't look happy.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Private? I've spoken to Lieutenant Winters. You're supposed to be in bed."

"I'm reporting to Captain Sobel for my morning run, sir. In a few days, we are headed for jump training. I've come too far to risk losing it over disobeying an order."

"Hmm, yes, I've been made aware of your standing orders but, Private Green, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to follow me."

"But, sir..."

"Follow me, Private," he cut me off gruffly. "There's something I think you need to see."

So this was it. All the months of pain and hard work, and it would end because Colonel Sink's regimental surgeon said that I was too weak and dehydrated to continue training. I kept my eyes on the ground, blinking back my frustrated tears as we turned another corner and he stopped, gesturing to something out in front of him.

"Well, Private," he asked, his voice now hinting at a smile. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sir?"

Confused, I looked up and followed his gaze toward our clearly unhappy CO. Before him were the men of Easy Company, dressed in full pack and waiting patiently to run Currahee with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**** CHRISTENSON POV ****

Since Chris had been revealed as Christina, she'd been almost wholly and completely ostracized by the enlisted men. Perhaps it was male ego suggesting that her presence was somehow a slap in the face of the paratroops being the best that the United States Army had to offer. Perhaps it was just the embarrassment of knowing that several weeks of the… ahem… "off-color"… conversations that take place among young, single men away from home had actually been taking place in front of a woman. Who knows? Maybe we thought we were doing her a favor by pushing her to quit and go home. Whatever it was, the pack mentality was hard to break free of. As much as we hated to agree with Sobel on anything, the general statement that she didn't belong here was accepted and, from that, the rumors and mistreatment became easier to accept as well.

For her part, she didn't complain in front of us. She didn't try to make friends again, or ask for our forgiveness or acceptance. She took the abuse from Sobel, the silence from us, and the extra work. The only people she talked to regularly were Winters and Nixon, with whom she was now quartered, which, of course, only fueled more rumors among the men about her relations with officers and how she'd gotten into Toccoa. Betting on when she'd quit, among other, more crude things, became a favorite pastime, and we were brazen enough to do it in front of her. I guess we just figured that she'd eventually give up and leave, and that we'd never see her again, so it didn't really matter.

I hadn't taken the time to really pay attention to the effect those couple of months had on her until the night we repeated the Friday night march together. When she stumbled and fell beside me, we were alone. Without the wolf pack to impress, I acted on instinct and reached to help her back up, finally taking a good look at her for the first time since her secret identity was revealed. She was far too thin, much thinner than I remembered her being when she had started training with us as one of the guys, and there were dark circles under her eyes that reflected her exhaustion. She was clearly dizzy and, based on what I'd heard her say during the first march, definitely dehydrated. Sobel knew it and sent her out here anyway, proving just how much of a bastard he really was.

This time when I suggested she should give up, it was more out of concern for her than my winning the bet, and her passionate response taught me more about her than I'd learned over the entire time we'd been at Toccoa. In spite of my doubts, she finished the march and stood firmly at attention until Sobel was out of sight. Only then did she falter, at last revealing just how dangerous her condition had become. The thought of her on a cot in the medical tent while we enjoyed our passes weighed heavily on my conscience for the next two days. So did the recollection of her warning me not to defend her to the men so that they wouldn't give me a hard time. Sunday evening, I finally worked up the nerve to make my feelings known.

"I think we should run the hill with Chris in the morning."

Luz's jaw was the first to drop. "You think we oughta what?"

"You, of all people, wanna run the hill in full pack to help out the skirt? Just what the hell were you two doing out there on that march?" demanded Perconte, provoking a round of suggestive laughter.

A few days ago, it was a remark that I would have made. Now, it irritated me and I shot daggers at Frank.

"Look. All I'm saying is that she's in really bad shape, but she made it clear to me that she'd rather die than quit. I just think that, after everything she went through on Friday, if she has the guts to try and run that mountain tomorrow morning, it wouldn't kill any of us to put an end to this extra two-a-day bullshit. Besides, I'm all about ruining Sobel's fun wherever we can."

The room buzzed with conversation and argument. Some of the men saw my point. Others didn't see what running the hill would do because they didn't think she'd make it through training anyway. Still others were just waiting on a majority decision to jump behind. At last, it was Bill Guarnere who stood up and made the declaration.

"Alright boys. Here's how it's gonna be. We'll form up in the morning. If she has the guts to show up and run, we will run with her. We got a weekend off because she finished that march, and a chance to piss off that prick. Let's take it for what it is. We're outta here at the end of the week anyway. One more run ain't gonna kill us."

Bill was widely respected, but he was also among the strongest personalities in the company. Nobody bucked his decision. The following morning, all of Easy was formed up in full pack, with the exception of Private Christina Green. The look on Sobel's face when he saw us standing there was more than worth the effort, but some of the guys were restless.

"Where is she, Pat?" Joe Toye growled at me out of the corner of his mouth.

"You men realize that if she doesn't show up, you're going to be running the mountain in full pack for nothing?" Sobel sniped.

"She'll be here, sir," countered Winters, and then I saw her.

She rounded the corner with Colonel Sink, still obviously weak but clearly determined to complete her morning run. The colonel motioned and smiled and, at last, she looked up. For a moment, I thought she might cry, but she held it back. Instead, she drew herself up straight and took her place in formation as Sink told us that a completed run this morning would signal the end of her so-called punishment. I got the feeling that he was saying it more for Sobel's benefit than for ours, and felt a small measure of satisfaction at the disappointed look on the captain's face as we fell out to run Currahee.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Let's get something straight, skirt," Roy Cobb addressed me as we headed for the hill. "This doesn't mean we like you. It's just pathetic watching you get your ass kicked day in and day out. Don't read anything into it."

Pat started to speak up, but I laughed and waved him off.

"It's okay, Pat. I actually appreciate his honesty. Cobb, I don't care if you're doing this just to piss Sobel off, or so that you have a good story to tell some girl you're trying to impress at the pub. You're here regardless, so I'll take what I can get at this point. I'm not asking you to be my friend. Fair enough?"

He shot a surprised glance at Pat, who just shrugged, and then gave me an appraising look.

"Yeah. Fair enough. Let's get this shit over with."

As was his custom on my solo runs, Sobel watched us from the bottom of the path. Had he known the men were going to step up for me, I'm sure he would have come prepared to join us so that he could heap abuse to reflect his disapproval. As it was, he sat in a jeep with Colonel Sink, waiting for us to finish. It was probably the most peaceful run we'd ever had as a company, even in full pack. We were halfway up the mountain before the silence was broken again as George Luz began to sing out the cadence. A voice nearby cut softly through the sound and I looked over to see Bull Randleman jogging beside me. His face revealed his still-simmering anger and he didn't take his eyes off of the road ahead, but his tone was firm.

"If you feel dizzy or sick, you damn well better speak up and tell someone. You pass out again trying to be a stubborn ass, and I'll run you out of this company myself."

"Bull, I didn't mean…"

He didn't cut me off this time. He just jogged ahead, ignoring me altogether, and Cobb's words rang in my ears again. This doesn't mean we like you. Don't read anything into it. This gesture was a one-off, borne out of pity rather than friendship. The fences still hadn't been mended and they might never be. Bull, a man of old-fashioned integrity and values, had taken my deception very personally. In his mind, Pat told me as soon as he was out of earshot, not only had I lied to everyone, but I disrespected our friendship by not trusting him enough to tell him the truth.

I spent the rest of the run staring a hole in the back of his head. Somewhere along the way, it hit me that regaining Denver Randleman's respect or friendship at this point would be next to impossible. It was a hard reality to face. The only consolation I had was that he at least still seemed concerned with my well-being. I extracted some small measure of hope when, as we set off on the 118-mile march that signaled the start of our next phase of training, he told Lieutenant Winters that he would take a spot beside me.

"If she falls out, sir, at least it'd be easier for me to carry her to the ambulance."

Still, he marched without making so much as a sound in my direction. Most of them did. It became clear that I was going to have to take a more proactive approach to the fence-mending. My opportunity came when, two nights into the historic march, Don Malarkey could not even stand long enough to get food.

"You don't get double, Skip," Joe Dominguez, company cook, was saying to Muck.

"I'm getting Don's. He's in the tent. He can't walk. He can hardly stand up. He really needs to ride the rest of the way, but I don't know if he will."

I spotted an empty tub that had been carrying the food Joe just cooked and, finishing my meal, I grabbed it and my pack and followed Skip back to the tent. The handful of men inside looked surprised when I walked through the flap, looking to Skip for an explanation.

"Hey, I didn't know she was coming in here."

Alex Penkala, sitting next to Bull, pulled his cigarette from his mouth long enough to ask, "What are you sneaking into our tent for, Green? You don't have any friends in here."

I ignored him, and Bull's icy stare, instead addressing Malarkey.

"I overheard Muck say that you couldn't walk."

"Yeah. So?"

"You know what? You can be an asshole to me later. We have to finish this march tomorrow, and I think I can help you. Unless, of course, you want all the pretty girls in Atlanta to see you getting carried through town in an ambulance like some sad 4-F. No? That's what I thought. Skip, please see if you can get this tub about half full of water."

My frustration at the flippant attitude came out at last, and I dropped the empty tub in front of him and knelt down to unlace his boots. He was either too shocked or too curious to protest as I pulled them off and dug into my pack. Skip, apparently also curious, did as I asked, returning a moment later with a jug of water to dump into the tub.

The occupants of the tent watched in silence as I opened a sewing kit and threaded a needle, methodically lancing and draining each blister, leaving the bits of knotted thread that would allow them to continue draining overnight. Then, I pulled out a bag filled with Epsom salts, my secret weapon over the torturous months at Toccoa, and dumped it into the tub, stirring until it was all dissolved.

Rising, I instructed, "Soak for an hour or so. Then leave them overnight to get air. In the morning, put on a clean pair of socks. You'll be able to finish on your own."

I returned to my own tent without waiting for a response, but smiling with the knowledge that Malarkey, however reluctant a patient, would be surprised when he actually did feel better the next morning. My lieutenants wanted in on the humor, so I told them briefly what I had done.

"And you really think he'll be okay to finish tomorrow? When I saw him, he couldn't do more than crawl," Winters asked.

"Yes sir. If he wants to finish, he will be able to. In fact, he should feel much better tomorrow."

"Well, well, well," Nixon mused. "Barging into a tent to gain a little goodwill? It seems I may have underestimated you after all, tiger."

* * *

 **** MALARKEY POV ****

When she walked out of the tent, everyone looked at me to see if I was actually going to listen to her. I'd be lying if I said I expected her treatment to work, but considering that I had been reduced to crawling, I figured that I didn't really have anything to lose.

"What the hell? She can't be trying to kill me, right? There are too many witnesses."

So, skeptical as I was, I did as she said. The next morning, I woke up, stretched, and walked out to relieve myself in my typical morning routine, when I noticed my tent-mates staring at me.

"What the hell are you staring at? Do ya mind?"

They glanced at each other as we zipped up and walked over to grab a bite of whatever was for breakfast. Finally, Penk spoke up.

"I don't believe it."

"What?"

"Don," Skip answered, pointing out the obvious. "You're walking."

"Well, yeah. Of course I'm… Holy shit, I'm walking!"

I stopped in my tracks, staring down at my battered, boot-laden feet. I lifted one foot and then the other. I bounced up and down for a moment. My feet and legs were still aching, of course, but I was up and walking on my own after having been reduced to hands and knees the night before. As if she'd sensed my shock, her voice came from behind me.

"Here ya go. I bagged some up for you to use tonight." When I turned, she wore a genuine smile and handed me a packet of Epsom salts before adding, "Glad to see you're doing better this morning."

That was it. No gloating. No "I told you so." No malice. She smiled, handed me the salts, and turned to walk away, leaving the four of us to stare after her. I only just had the presence of mind to call out after her when Bull nudged me and nodded at her retreating form.

"Hey, Green?" She turned and looked over her shoulder at me. "Thanks."

She bit back another smile and acknowledged me with a small nod before continuing on her way. Three of us turned back toward the food line before noticing that one of us was still watching her go.

"You coming, Bull?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Sure. I'm right behind you."

"Good. Might wanna stop looking back and watch where you're walking though. Unless you're trying to fall on your face so she can nurse you too?"

"Shut it, Penkala."


	4. Chapter 4

**** GUARNERE POV ****

I had to admit that I felt a little swell of pride when she took her place in formation to run Currahee that morning. I'd made the decision to run the hill because I saw the true conviction on Pat's face. I knew many of the men didn't actually expect her to show. They'd dressed and came out because they didn't want to face me if they didn't. Loyalty. All for one, and one for all.

Pat had been right about how worn out she looked, but the expression on her face when she saw us all standing there was kind of amazing… until I thought about the expressions on her face over the last few months. I overheard her telling Cobb that it didn't matter if we were her friends. Just that we were here. Wow. Had it been that bad? Yeah. We were jerks.

I stood back and watched when she took care of Malarkey during the march from Hell. I listened when she gracefully sidestepped the opportunity to gloat over him feeling better the following morning. She was trying. She was genuine. And she hadn't quit yet, despite all of the bullshit. I could at least respect that, even if I didn't have to like her.

And I didn't. I didn't have to like her. I could stop being a jerk to her and not like her. I could respect her and not like her. I could admire the way she went about her business without complaint and not like her. I could stand behind her in the plane, checking her equipment, and still not like her.

But how could I not like a woman who made me laugh when, on our first certification jump, she jumped out in front of me and started screaming, "Oh my God, Bill, we're flying!"

"You really do love this shit, don'tcha Chris?" I chuckled when we hit the ground, watching as she gathered her chute.

"Hell yeah! Don't you? What a rush!"

Before I could reply, Bull walked by, silently turning her so that she had less resistance as she gathered her chute before continuing on his way. She watched him go, and when she turned back to me, she pasted on a smile and tried to hide the sadness in her eyes.

"He'll come around, you know? Just keep doing what you're doing."

"I don't think so, Bill. Pretty sure he hates me."

"Oh, stop being so fucking dramatic!" I scolded. "Is he angry that you lied? Yeah. Is he hurt that you betrayed his trust? Probably. But that? That little gesture right there? That isn't a man who hates you. Look. I realize that none of us, including you, really handled this situation all that well. But it's just going to take some time. Jesus, Chris, have some patience with us! We spent a month telling embarrassing and crude stories in front of you without knowing you were a skirt! We're scraping our dignity back together here."

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Sorry. Got a little carried away," he apologized sheepishly as we walked toward the assembly area, but he looked relieved when I laughed and nudged his shoulder.

"Actually, I probably needed it. Thanks. You're right about the dramatics. I guess I'm just tired and grumpy. And even if half the company does hate me, there's really nothing I can do about it, is there?"

"That's the spirit, kid! To hell with 'em! I'm the only one you really gotta worry about anyway, because I'm the one in position to push you out of the airplane."

Four jumps later, I landed next to him and we popped our harnesses, still riding the adrenalin.

"You know what this means, don'tcha kid?" I didn't know what he was talking about. He was grinning from ear to ear at my puzzled expression and, at last, spread his arms out wide. "You just earned your wings."

The realization hit me. I'd been so busy worrying about everything else and getting through the jumps that when the moment came, I didn't even process it right away. I looked up at the sky, and down at my discarded harness. Then, I looked back at the smiling Philadelphian in front of me. His arms were still open. He waved me in as my eyes began to tear, and I walked into an unexpectedly tight hug.

"Listen, kid. Don't get used to this, okay? I'm just hugging ya because I'm glad I didn't have to throw you out of the plane or scrape you off of the ground."

"Funny. You're a funny guy, Bill. But let's be honest. You're just hugging me so that you don't feel so bad about copping feels during equipment check."

This time, I earned a belly laugh and he threw his arm around my shoulder as we made our way toward the assembly area to celebrate.

"You got some sass. I like that. Ya know, you're starting to grow on me, doll."

"Aww, Bill, that's the nicest damn thing anyone's ever said to me," I retorted, batting my eyelashes. "There's always been something about a man who talks about me like I'm some kind of fungus that just…"

"Yeah, yeah. Shut your yap."

The change in Bill's attitude toward me was a monumental step toward at least earning civility from a lot of the men. So much so that, that night at our party, I actually found myself seated in a group at Bill's table. Not everyone spoke to me, but it was a far cry from time spent in isolated corners trying not to be noticed.

Bill had just finished demonstrating his beer-swilling prowess by dropping his wings into a full glass and chugging it, catching the metal between his teeth. His comrades-in-intoxication were delighted by the feat, of course, cheering as though he'd just single-handedly delivered Hitler's mustache.

"Hi ho, Silver!" was his grinning war cry. I laughed and shook my head. "What?"

"Should've gone to Hollywood, Bill. You could've been Philadelphia's John Wayne. Do you know that? You've got at least that much swagger about you."

He puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders a bit.

"You hear that, fellas? John fucking Wayne, she says. Told ya from the beginning that I liked this kid."

"Yeah, yeah," I laughed. "Don't let it go to your head there, Duke. You'll fall off your horse."

"Hey Bill, you think we're gonna have to put weights in BG's pockets to keep her from blowing out of the DZ when we jump?"

Donald Hoobler was a sweet, round-faced guy with a contagious smile. Although we hadn't really spoken until this party, he was one of a handful who had never actually been outright disrespectful to me, and now that we were on speaking terms, I found him impossible not to like. He was that childhood best friend who always led you off on adventures that you knew would get you in trouble, but you couldn't resist because you also knew you'd come back with a tale to tell. He actually seemed relieved that the embargo on pleasantries with the skirt had been lifted, perhaps because he had someone new to tell all of his stories to. When he leaned around Bull, who had yet to make eye contact with me, to ask Bill his question, I noticed a couple of sideways glances after he used a nickname with which I was not yet familiar.

"BG? Where did that come from?" He seemed to realize a slip of some kind, his face flushing crimson, and I immediately assumed that this had, perhaps, been some sort of holdover from when things weren't quite as friendly. "Or do I even want to know what that stands for?"

Pat, seated next to me, saw that I had assumed the worst and rescued Hoobler as he stumbled over an explanation.

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's nothing bad. Just a play on a nickname that one of the other guys had for you."

"Oh. So what does it stand for then?"

A chair scraped across the floor and Denver Randleman unfolded himself from it, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"I'm gonna go get another beer."

Skip Muck, seated on my other side, waited until he had walked away before throwing a cigarette butt at Hoobler. Pat sighed and leaned back in his chair, but I could see the silent conversation he was having with Bill written in their eyes. Bill gave a slight shake of his head. Pat clenched his jaw and put his elbows back on the table, finally turning back to me as I waited for an explanation.

"It stands for Blue Green. It's just a play on your name. You know how it is. Eventually everybody winds up with a nickname."

The group seemed to be watching my face to see if I'd accept the explanation. It felt strange to know that something was so obviously being held back, but to not feel as though I could ask, so I just nodded.

"Oh. Ok. That makes sense."

The sigh of relief was audible, and Bill was quick to change the subject, grabbing George Luz as he walked by the table.

"I negotiated with Luz to get you a cut of his take, since nobody won the bet on when you'd quit. Come on, George. Give the lady her money."

"Sorry, Bill. No can do."

"What? Why not? She's still here! She got her wings! Nobody thought she would!"

"Actually, as it so happens, one of the first guys in put a month's worth of pay on BG's wings. Said there was no way he'd bet against her. I'd have settled with him here, but he said he needed to pick something up in town earlier, so I went ahead and paid out."

"Who the hell…?" Bill started to ask.

George winked at me and looked across the pub at a tall bar table where two men were stoically sipping their beers and surveying the raucous crowd. Joe Toye saw me looking that way first and tipped his glass in my direction. I smiled and returned the acknowledgement. Could Joe really have…? No. Well, maybe? But if it wasn't him, the second trooper at the table was… Denver Randleman…

Beside me, Bill spoke aloud the thought that I couldn't yet quite verbalize.

"I don't fucking believe it. He never told me that! I even asked him if he put up any money! He really bet on her to finish from the get-go?"

Luz, never shy about spilling other people's gossip, quickly confirmed whatever suspicion Bill had. I still wasn't completely sure which of the two unlikely suspects I was supposed to be amazed at. Frankly, I'd have probably been equally baffled at either of them. But he and George just carried on like I wasn't even sitting there.

"Yep. I tried to give him an out several times. Offered him a chance to change days. Even offered his money back altogether. I felt guilty for taking advantage, but he didn't even consider wavering. He said he was totally confident in 'Blue.' Once he gave her a nickname, I figured he was a lost cause, so I quit asking."

"Sneaky son of a bitch," was Bill's amused response.

Mine was a round of confused glances, to Bill, to Luz, and to the table where my mystery supporter stood. No one moved to explain. For once, none of them seemed eager to spill the beans. Doubt crept in a bit, but before I could demand answers, I was interrupted by the appearance of Colonel Sink at our table.

"At ease, gentlemen. And lady. Private Green, I just wanted to take a moment and personally congratulate you on those wings. You have truly proven that you belong here, and I look forward to witnessing your career as a paratrooper. Take care of her, boys."

The party lasted until most everyone was too tired or too tipsy to continue. I never got a better answer from anyone about the bet, nor did I expect to. The change of subject when Sink walked away was not exactly subtle. By the time we drifted out and back toward our barracks, I'd tried to convince myself that it didn't matter who the mystery man was. I didn't have time for butterflies in my stomach anyway. The point was that someone had believed in me from the beginning. Then I stepped into the officers' barracks that were still my home.

I stopped so abruptly that Nixon, deep into the Vat69, bumped into the back of me, exclaiming, "What the hell? What's wrong?"

I said nothing. Stepping slowly toward my bunk, I stared with new confusion at the neatly arranged offering that had been placed in the middle. Glancing back at Nixon and Winters, now behind me, they both shrugged as if they knew nothing. I looked back down.

The rose was beautiful crimson and still fresh and fragrant, its stem having been placed in water, using a canteen as a makeshift vase. I lifted it to put it on the adjacent desk and saw a piece of paper tucked underneath. The neatly printed message was simple and short, but it was more than enough to awaken those butterflies that I didn't have time for. Reading over my shoulder, Nixon chuckled and Winters patted me on the shoulder.

"Uh oh. Looks like we may be losing a roommate sooner rather than later, Dick. Now who am I going to try to sneak peeks of in their skivvies?"

I blushed and read the note again one last time before tucking it into the journal I always kept close.

 _"_ _I knew when you begged Sink to stay here that doubting you wasn't an option. You are something special and I really am proud of you, even if I don't show it. Congratulations, Blue."_


	5. Chapter 5

**I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR THE AMAZING REVIEWS. I REALLY APPRECIATE YOU TAKING THE TIME TO READ THIS, AND EVERY OTHER STORY I'VE WRITTEN. THERE IS MUCH MORE ON THE WAY! PLEASE KEEP THOSE REVIEWS COMING!**

* * *

 **** CHRISTINE POV ****

After a day off the recover from our party, the newly-minted paratroopers of Easy Company were headed off on a march. Getting our wings had not made Captain Sobel any less sadistic. We'd been ordered into full pack and told that, while the captain was in meetings, we were to form up and complete his favorite twelve mile trek. Bull approached a group of us as we stood waiting, and George began digging in his pack.

"Hey Bull. Managed to scrounge an extra canteen from the supply closet. How'd you manage to lose yours on a day where we weren't even using them?"

My jaw went slack and, for the first time in months, Denver Randleman made solid eye contact with me.

"I, um…"

He looked like a deer in the headlights. George, sensing the growing discomfort, grinned and opened his mouth to needle the stricken man. I saw an opportunity.

"Come on, George. You know how Sobel is. He probably came through on an inspection and took it to have someone to yell at later."

"Then why… Ouch!" His probing question was cut off abruptly by an elbow to the ribs and a dirty look. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll leave him alone. Jeez. Who knew Bull needed a bodyguard?"

Bull's response was a growling, "Shut up, George."

"Shutting up."

He cut his eyes at the diminutive smartass as Winters ordered us into formation. My mind was still processing the idea that, sitting on the desk beside my bunk, there was a sweet note and a beautiful rose… placed in Denver Randleman's canteen. About four miles in, his quiet drawl interrupted my thoughts.

"Thanks for cutting George off back there. I, um…"

"Yeah, I got that part the first time you stuttered it."

The deep, rumbling chuckle coming from his chest made me smile, and we were quiet for a while, each lost in our own thoughts as we began kicking sand over the line that had been drawn between us. At mile eight, I broke the silence again.

"Thank you, Bull."

"For what?"

"For the rose. For the note. For thinking that I could get my wings."

"Oh. That. Well, the girl I saw in Sink's office wasn't going to fail."

"And for trying to take care of me all the time… even if you weren't speaking to me…" He sighed and started to speak, but I cut him off. "Bull, listen. I understand. I should have told the truth. I betrayed your trust and I'm sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me for that."

We were halfway through the last mile when he finally spoke again.

"I understand that you were in a bad position, and I admire how bad you wanted to be here. You must have gone through a lot. I'll make you a deal. I'll start over and put the past behind us, if you'll promise never to lie to me again." I was so relieved that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I looked up at the soft-spoken Southern mountain marching beside me and met his sidelong glance. "Do we have a deal?"

"Absolutely. You're the last person I'd want to betray. So…" I tested the waters. "Maybe… we can try being friends?"

I could feel him studying me, his face serious. At last, a smile spread across his face again and I released the breath I'd been holding when he gave me a quick wink.

"Yeah, Blue… we can try friends."

When formation broke again, Luz started in immediately.

"So, you finally stopped trying to be mad at the girl? About damn time! Been driving us crazy for months! Hey, Lieutenant Winters, can Blue finally stop fraternizing with the officers and move back in with us now?"

* * *

 **** WINTERS POV ****

The look on Christina's face was one of absolute shock, and I had to laugh a bit. I'd been observing for a while now, watching as her dedication slowly endeared her to the men who'd once doubted her. I'd listened to snippets of conversation that revealed how she was turning the tide back in her favor. I drew my arms across my chest and looked down at her, and then at the men who had gathered to hear the conversation.

"Well, George, I'm not sure if all of the men feel the same way that you…"

A chorus of responses came from the group, assuring me that they were "fine with the skirt," and that it would be "nice to have something better than George to look at." In short, they felt that she'd earned her way back into the Easy Company barracks. Standing just behind her was the one man who'd been the hardest to convince, silent as usual. As I addressed him directly, she looked up over her shoulder at him.

"What do you think, Randleman? You think there's room for her in the barracks with the enlisted men?"

The way he was looking down at her made me unsure if he'd heard me, but at last he answered, "Yes, sir. The bunk next to mine is still empty."

"Well, then, that settles it. We'll just need to get her footlocker moved to…"

"We're on it, sir," Bill Guarnere answered, pointing Christenson in the direction of the officers' barracks. "Come on, Doll. Let's go move you back in where ya belong."

"Damn," Nix muttered next to me. "I can't believe I've been sleeping next to her this whole time, and I never ever tried anything! What the hell is wrong with me? I must be out of my mind."

"Sorry, Lew. You snooze, you lose."

* * *

 **** CHRISTENSON POV ****

Bill and I put her footlocker down by her bed and moved to help her with her blankets before noticing the items she had carefully cradled on top.

"Pretty rose ya got there, Chris. Is that a note?"

"No!"

Bill's eyes lit up at the indignation and he pressed further.

"Who is it from, huh? Nixon sweet on ya? I mean, boys, shouldn't we know if our little warrior princess has a suitor? What if we don't approve?"

"Yeah, Chris," George piped in. "Do we need to have a talk with this guy?"

Her face now matched the rose as she moved to set her collection down. Hoobler reached over her to grab for the note. She made a quick dive to stop him. The book, obviously a journal, that had been on the pile came clattering to the ground as she shot daggers at Hoob. He looked sheepish as he bent to pick it up, but when he stood, his jaw was hanging open as he stared at a piece of paper that had fallen out of the book.

"Holy shit, Blue! Who is this?"

George leaned over his shoulder.

"Let me see that. Damn! Look at her!"

The men clamored for a look at the mystery girl, passing the picture around in a game of keep away as she jumped and struggled to reclaim it. When it landed in my hands, I had to admit that the girl was beautiful. It appeared to be late spring or early summer, and she was posed to look back over her shoulder at the camera, like a pin-up. She wore a pretty dress that revealed just enough of her feminine curve to remain classy. Auburn hair flowed down over her back, and you could almost picture her batting her eyelashes. Her smile was beautiful… and strikingly familiar. I stared at it, and then looked up at her. Her eyes answered my question before I could ask it.

"Really?"

Bull glanced over my shoulder at the photograph as I stared over it at her embarrassment.

"Wow… she's…" I heard him breathe, and then he had the same realization that I did. Looking up, he finally put the curiosity of the rest of the men to rest. "She's you."

"What?" some of the men scoffed. "Let me see that thing again! I mean, no offense, BG, but there's no way that's the same…" Slowly, the questions faded and the jaws began to drop as the photo made its way around the room again.

"Yes. It's me. I took it the day before I cut my hair off to get into Toccoa. Thank you all for the vote of confidence that I could ever clean up that well. Believe it or not, men used to find me attractive, hard as that may be for you to believe. I guess I wanted a reminder of what it was like to be, and look like, a woman." I handed it back to her and she gave it a long, sad look. Then she tossed it in the trash. "Oh well. I gave up pretty for parachutes. Can't have it both ways, I guess. I'm gonna go take a shower."

The room was quiet as we watched her walk out. As we began to gather our stuff for our own showers, I hear several guys talking about how beautiful she had been and why she'd given that up to be here. More than a few were talking about trying to get her dressed up again at some point. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bull listening to the conversations and shaking his head. Finally, he leaned over and retrieved the discarded picture from the trash. At first, he moved to tuck it back into her journal, but stopped when he looked down at it. He seemed completely taken, running his thumb affectionately across it before looking around quickly to make sure that no one had seen him. When he saw me watching, I raised an eyebrow at him and nodded. He narrowed his eyes, but I could see the smile there. He knew that I knew his secret. Glancing around once more to make sure no one else had noticed, he tucked the photograph into his pack and walked, grinning, past me and out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

"So BG, you wanna see if we can find a deserted cabin in this tin can? We've got twelve days to kill, and once we're in England, we might not have time."

Floyd Talbert stood beside me on the crowded deck of the USS Samaria as we left the Statue of Liberty behind. In the nine months since we'd gotten our wings, we'd travelled all over the eastern United States, training without knowing which ocean we'd be crossing when it finally came time to go to war. Along the way, I'd become a fully integrated member of Easy Company, subject to the same teasing, practical jokes, stupid arguments, and scrutiny of performance as every other man in the company. I was one of the guys. The only difference was that I was the only "one of the guys" that they tried to sneak peeks of in the shower.

The group of guys around me chuckled at Tab's bold suggestion, but when I responded coolly, "Tab, sweetheart, I really don't see how five minutes with you is gonna make that big a difference in making twelve days go by faster. It'd take us longer to find a place to do it," they started howling with laughter.

His face was priceless, reddened for the first time that I could remember, and stuttering, "What? But… I… that's not right, Chris!"

Bull, directly behind me, as had become his customary place, smirked, "The lady calls 'em like she sees 'em, Tab. Looks like she's got you pegged."

"Sorry, Tab. That one was too easy. Come on. Let's go find out where we're sleeping."

The cargo hold was beyond crowded and already hot and smoky. Hammocks were hung top to bottom and bow to stern, and we were assigned two to a space. Vest stood in the doorway, holding a list and pointing out spaces in the corner where Easy was to swelter for the next week and a half. I slipped a couple of packs of cigarettes into his breast pocket and he smiled and checked his list.

"Thanks BG. You and Bull are in that one right there."

"Did you just pay Vest to bunk with me?"

"Well, yeah. You're the only one I can trust not to cop a feel while I'm sleeping. Besides, we're compatible size-wise. You're a giant, but I'm not that big. That way, we don't have to trade off like everyone else. We can both relax."

In the nine months since we'd begun repairing the bridge between us, Denver Randleman had emerged, unsurprisingly, as my best friend. There were whispered late-night conversations across the space between our bunks as we learned what had brought each of us to the parachute infantry. There was laughter and teasing, mostly about the fact that I was so much smaller. He'd often put things out of my reach just to give me a hard time and force me to beg for his help.

Also, there was protectiveness. It seemed that he was never more than an arm's length away when we were training. When Sobel was on a rampage, or being particularly abusive toward me, I could almost feel him swelling up with anger. Whether we were standing around talking with the boys or out at a pub, he was usually found standing just behind me, so close that I could lean into him, just as he had been on the deck of the ship.

Frank Perconte had asked him once why he always seemed to be hovering over me, and he answered simply, "Because I've always got her back, Perco." And he always did.

A few weeks into this newfound friendship I noticed that, although everyone else had adopted the "BG" nickname, he continued to call me "Blue." I finally asked the question I'd been dying to have answered. I knew I didn't have the nerve to ask him directly, so I waited until he was in the shower and pulled Pat aside.

"Okay. Tell me where the nickname came from."

"I told you, it's a play on your name," he answered, shifting nervously.

"I know what 'BG' is. But you said that it started because he was calling me 'Blue.' That was before we ever started talking again. Where did it come from, Pat?"

"Your eyes," he sighed. "He's talking about your eyes."

The butterflies that had fluttered the night he'd left the rose on my pillow now returned in full force. There was no longer any denying that I had a crush on the man. That night, when he draped his arm across the back of my chair as we all sat watching a movie; I leaned into his chest and rested my head against his shoulder.

I think he'd been too stunned by the display of affection to move then, but now, as I explained the hammock arrangements on the ship some nine months later, he draped a heavy arm across my shoulders and pulled me in to press a kiss against the top of my head. Together, we worked our way through the crowd and settled into the conversation about Europe, Africa, Hitler, and the common dread of following our clueless Captain into battle.

Hours later, Bull had dozed off and I stood to stretch and make my way to the restroom. I had almost made it back to my bunk when a nervy trooper from another company reached out to grab my ass.

"Hey there, baby. Let's have a little fun."

"Excuse me?"

I spun and looked up at him, not quite sure if I had imagined what happened. He reached for me, pulling me against him as I tried to push him back. It became clear that someone in D Company had smuggled some liquor aboard.

"Come on. Let's have a little fun. Or does Easy try to keep you all for themselves?"

"Get the hell off of me," I ordered, my voice now at a level that it drew the attention of my nearby brothers.

The more I struggled, the tighter he squeezed, trying to kiss me. I moved to push and, if necessary, kick myself free, but before I could, his arms were forcibly removed and he disappeared behind the broad shoulders of a visibly pissed Joe Toye.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You out of your mind?"

"Just having a little fun. What the hell do you care? You guys don't even like the skirt!"

"Yeah? Well, most of us don't like Webster either, but he's still one of us. Like has nothing to do with it. You touch one of us, you get all of us. Understand?"

The commotion must have woken Bull up because, just like that, he was standing in his place at my back.

"What's going on here?"

Joe never took his eyes off of my attacker as he related what he had walked into, and the more he spoke, the more I could feel Bull taking deep breaths to keep his composure. For his part, the liquored up moron couldn't seem to tell that it would have been a wise moment to tuck his tail and walk away.

"What's the matter, Randleman? Did you already have her reserved for tonight?"

Bull's hands went to my waist, and he lifted me effortlessly, placing me back on our bunk and out of danger before stepping up beside Joe. In another situation, it would have been incredibly sexy.

Seeing the brewing fight, a handful of other D Company members approached to back up their buddy. Confident in their numbers, they cracked knuckles and made daring, alcohol-fueled remarks about me. Joe and Bull never blinked, ready and waiting for one of them to make the first move, but the liquid-brave morons never got the chance. Bill and Liebgott slid off their bunks and stepped up next to their friends, followed quickly by Don, Skip, and Penk. After a moment, it seemed that all of Easy was crowded into the aisle, ready to defend my honor. The opposing group hesitated at the show of solidarity just long enough for an unexpected voice to sound from behind them.

"Which one of you wants to tell me what the hell is going on here? Because I'd hate to think that members of my company got drunk on alcohol that they shouldn't have and behaved disrespectfully toward Private Green who, by the way, outperformed most of you in training."

Lieutenant Ronald Spiers was a scary man when he was not in good humor. Right now was one of those times. He was chillingly calm. His eyes were ice-cold and unblinking as he waited for an explanation. It didn't bode well for the drunken troopers of D Company that they had been caught red-handed by one of the most unforgiving lieutenants in the 506th.

"No sir. We were just talking."

"Yeah, I saw you talking. All of you, with me. Now. Private Green, my apologies for their behavior, and my compliments, both on earning your wings and earning such loyalty from these men. You won't have any more problems out of D Company."

As he escorted his boys away, the men of Easy settled back into our corner, but not before I planted a kiss on the cheek of each man who had stood to defend me. Finally, Bull tucked himself back into the bunk beside me.

"You done kissing everybody now? Yeah? Good. I was getting jealous." We teased back and forth for a few minutes before he grew serious again. "You okay? I'm sorry they pulled that shit with you. And I'm sorry I wasn't there faster, Blue. I'm supposed to take care of you, and…"

I leaned in and gave him his kiss on the cheek, silencing him immediately. When I leaned back, he wore a small, shocked smile and his cheeks were pink.

"You do take care of me, Denver. Always. No apologies necessary."

"Yeah, well, no more wandering off alone on the ship, okay? Too many things that could happen, and you're my best friend. I'd hate to have to kill someone before we even get to Europe." As if to emphasize, he wrapped a strong arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest. "Just stay close to me, okay?"

For the next twelve days, he kept me close enough that I could hear his heartbeat. Life on the ship carried on as normal. We smoked and read magazines. We ate and slept. We argued and teased and talked. Sometimes, he'd stand on the deck with me. I'd lean back into him, and he'd wrap his arms around my waist and rest his chin on the top of my head as we looked over the rail at the endless ocean. I grew accustomed to drifting off to sleep listening to Bull talk to the guys around us as he absent-mindedly played with my hair, and waking up tucked into his side with my head on his chest.

Our long journey ended in Aldbourne, England. The war was so much closer now. Troops and equipment filled the area so, instead of barracks, we were billeted in tents just outside the quiet country town, given roughly sewn sacks, and pointed to piles of straw with which to stuff them and create mattresses. Truth be told, after twelve days crammed in a cargo hold, it really wasn't that bad. We arranged our makeshift mattresses and blankets and headed over to find some chow.

The mood was relaxed as we settled back into the tents to go to bed that night, and the men around me quickly fell asleep. I closed my eyes. I counted sheep. I tossed and turned. I tried deep breathing. Nothing worked. I couldn't fall asleep, although I was exhausted. Finally, I opened my eyes and sighed in frustration. Then a large hand reached out in the darkness and took hold of my mattress, tugging it easily toward his shadow, and I was in his arms again.

"Hey. Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Something just didn't feel right."

"I know. Me neither," he whispered, brushing his fingers through my hair. "Feels right now though."

The words made my stomach flutter, and I had to replay the memory of him calling me his "best friend" to keep from looking up into his eyes. Friends. Friends. Friends. He's just being a normal, protective friend. At last the fluttering stopped. I cuddled into his chest, instantly relaxing into the familiar warmth, and whispered a "good night" against the side of his neck. Turning so that he could wrap his other arm around my waist, he pulled me into him like a child's teddy bear and pressed his lips against my forehead.

"Good night, Baby Blue."


	7. Chapter 7

**I AM SO INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO HAVE SUCH AMAZING REVIEWERS. YOU ARE ALL SO GOOD TO ME. I HOPE THAT YOU WILL CONTINUE TO REVIEW AND TO ENJOY THIS STORY!**

* * *

 **** BILL POV ****

"I will not follow that man into combat," I told Lipton emphatically, and the table full of men agreed with me.

The line in the sand had finally been drawn between Winters and Sobel. The captain had been insecure from the first day, and the ever-widening gap between his ineptitude and Lieutenant Winters' obvious tactical skill and leadership ability had done little to relieve that insecurity. It was why he was constantly badgering Winters, trying to undermine him in front of the company. It was why he constantly put him in difficult and completely unnecessary disciplinary situations with the men. It was why he had changed an order for latrine inspection without informing Winters, purposely setting him up for a reprimand.

Sobel had thought he'd sign his reprimand without complaint and accept his punishment, as it was already his custom to remain on base during the weekends. Instead, the lieutenant gave an endorsement requesting trial by court-martial, and was reassigned to battalion mess while Colonel Strayer tried to figure out what to do next. After almost two years of trying to be the good soldier and deal with the unreasonable abuse, Winters had decided that enough was enough. One of them had to go. We'd be damned if it was going to be Winters.

The NCOs met in private to discuss our options. At last, we came to a consensus. We would resign our positions as non-commissioned officers. All of us. Carwood Lipton, being the intelligent, rational man that he was, paused for a moment to ask us if we were all sure that we knew what we were doing. Despite the quick response, he reminded us that the consequences could be dire. Mutiny of this kind could result in our being lined up against a wall and shot. He glanced around the table and made eye contact with each man.

When he reached me, I reaffirmed, "I will not follow that man into combat."

Bull, seated next to me, added, "Me neither."

Sobel's poor leadership in combat was a death sentence for the whole Easy Company. If there was a chance that we could prevent that, I was willing to risk the wrath of Colonel Sink. With the decision made, we all wrote our letters.

"I hereby no longer wish to serve as a non-commissioned officer in Easy Company."

Lipton carried the letters away to be delivered and I drew a deep drag from my cigarette, knowing that I had done the right thing, but wondering if I would live to see my friends again. It didn't take long for Sink's wrath to be felt. We were summoned to his office, and as we stood at attention before his desk awaiting our fate, it felt like we were carrying the weight of the world.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"They did what?" I shrieked. My blood roared in my ears and the room spun as Luz told me why all of the NCOs had been summoned to Sink's office. "No! All of them? They're gonna get shot! Bill and Tab… and Bull… they're gonna…"

Bull had been unusually quiet and distant this morning before the NCO meeting, and I'd spent the whole day trying to figure out why. We hadn't had a fight. There was no reason I knew of why he should be mad at me. Still, I'd had the nagging feeling that something was very wrong, and I hadn't seen him since he'd rushed out of the barracks with Bill. My insides had been twisted all day at the thought that he was keeping something from me. At last I understood what it was. He'd gone off willingly to sign his death warrant.

I was a blubbering, hyperventilating mess of tears and panic. I'm not sure that George knew quite what to do with me now that he had opened the floodgates. Fortunately, Liebgott came to his rescue, rolling his eyes at George as he walked over and pulled me into a hug, allowing me to sob into his chest.

"Shh, it's okay, BG. Breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths. I don't want you passing out. It's all gonna be okay. You'll see."

I don't know how long he held me, but after a while, I felt him turning my teary-eyed, runny-nosed, hiccupping body into someone else's chest. Wrapping a set of strong arms around me, the new form finally spoke.

"Why is she crying?" Bill. My eyes snapped up to see his face and I touched his cheek to make sure that it was him. He watched me, his eyes full of concern. At last, I threw my arms around his neck. "Joe, what the hell is going on here?"

"George told her about what you guys did."

"Shit, George!" And then to me, "Hey, hey, hey. Chris, look at me. We're okay."

"You could have been shot! All of you! Wait, you're not gonna be shot, are you?"

"Sink was pissed but we're all okay. Salty got transferred. Ranney got busted to private. That's it. No charges. No firing squad. Everyone is okay."

"Where is he?"

A voice came from the doorway as I finished the question.

"Where is who?"

I said nothing, instead launching myself into Bull's arms and burying my face in his neck. He caught me and held me close as I began to cry all over again. Joe briefly explained what had happened, and I didn't have to see it to know that Bull tossed a stern look in George's direction.

"I'm sorry! How was I supposed to know she'd lose it like that?"

Bull didn't answer him, instead walking me over to our mattresses and sitting down, cradling me against his chest until I had once again exhausted my tears. Sensing that I was coming down, he brushed my hair back from my face and looked down at me.

"You okay now, Baby Blue?"

"Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but we had to do something. And we're all okay. I'm okay. I'm right here."

"You could have at least told me!"

"No, I couldn't."

I sat up a bit and stared at him. We'd had so many discussions about keeping secrets, and now he was saying that he had to keep one from me that could have cost him everything. He looked away, trying to avoid eye contact, but I caught his chin and made him meet my eyes.

"Why not?"

"I wasn't going to risk you getting in trouble for knowing the plan… and I knew that if I told you beforehand, and you'd looked like you did when I walked in here, I wouldn't have been able to go through with it. The idea of you being here without me to protect you already scared me. I'd never have been able to look in your eyes and then walk away from you."

His thumb brushed my cheek and his eyes burned into mine, willing me to understand what he couldn't quite bring himself to say. The knot in my stomach began to loosen.

"No more secrets, Bull. Best friends don't have secrets."

He smiled at me and nodded, "I promise. You wanna go get some chow? I'm starving."

I wasn't quite over it. I had gotten my first taste of the fear of having my friends… and of having Bull… ripped away from me, and we weren't even at war yet. I couldn't make myself release my hold on him.

"Will you have to let go of me?"

My favorite deep, rumbling chuckle came bubbling up from his chest and he maneuvered to stand back up, still holding me in his arms. Once he had succeeded, he kissed my nose and smiled down at me.

"Nope. I can hold you as long as you want me to, Baby Blue."

We got a few strange looks when he carried me into the mess tent. We got a lot when he shifted me to piggyback so that he could carry our food to the table. George started laughing outright when he put the plates down and sat down with me in his lap.

"Looks like you oughta be thanking me for telling her instead of being mad at me, Bull. I mean, damn! She hasn't let go of you since you walked back in."

"No, thanks to you he's probably tired of me hanging on him."

"You're probably right. He's probably only putting up with it because he feels bad that he made you cry," George retorted, reaching to pull me out of Bull's lap. Bull's arm tightened around my waist. He looked at George as though he were a starving dog whose food was being taken away, and George pulled his hands back with a relaxed chuckle. "Okay, okay, killer. Hands off."

Now that the show was over, the men around us slowly fell back into their own conversations as we all finished eating. I looked back at Bull, who was still glancing warily in George's direction.

I leaned against him and spoke quietly, "Hey, I'll move if you want me to. I know you don't want to carry me around all night."

"Do you really want me to let you go?"

His voice was low, sounding almost worried that I might want to move. His eyes pierced my heart, stealing my breath with their earnestness. I breathed out the truth.

"No, I really don't."

His lips brushed my earlobe, causing a shiver as he whispered, "Don't listen to George, Baby Blue. I do feel bad that I made you cry, but even if I hadn't, I'd be totally content to hold you forever."

Cue the butterflies.


	8. Chapter 8

**KEEP THOSE AMAZING REVIEWS, FOLLOWS, AND FAVORITES COMING! YOU'RE AMAZING! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAPTER.**

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

The room was dark and completely silent, except for the movie playing at the front. A hundred pairs of eyes were staring forward at the flickering film without actually seeing it. We were on a 24-hour stand-down, which was just code for we had to wait a little longer to jump into the middle of a war. The mood was subdued and heavy.

At least our risky resignation threat had succeeded in getting Sobel reassigned. Lieutenant Meehan was a man that we felt comfortable taking orders from in combat. We all knew how well-trained we were. We knew our mission and the terrain to the detail. We were as ready as we would ever be. That didn't mean that we weren't afraid, especially now that we'd been given another night to think about it. We knew now that this was the real thing. Tomorrow, we were loading into planes and jumping into Normandy with the knowledge that many of us would never return, and some of us wouldn't even live through the jump. My arm tightened around the tiny creature next to me, and I thought back over everything that had led us to this point.

From day one, I had the weirdest sense that something was different about Private Chris Green. I could never quite put my finger on it, and I'd certainly never mentioned it to the others, but there was a certain softness and vulnerability. There was no macho attitude. I just assumed that Green was a youngster who'd lied about his age, and figured that I'd take him under my wing to keep the wolves from eating him alive.

We fell into surprisingly comfortable conversation, which had started originally with our mutual amusement at exactly this sort of testosterone-driven posturing as the men around us spent the first few days at Toccoa trying to establish dominance before we began training. Green had known exactly what questions to ask, and exactly how to ask them, so that I didn't feel weird about opening up. There was a trust there, and by the time Doc made his big discovery on Currahee, Chris Green and I were the best of friends, as though we'd known each other for years. We knew all there was to know about the other… or so I thought.

When I carried her down the mountain and into Sink's office that day, I was riding a wave of anger, hurt, and betrayal. She tried to apologize and explain, but I wasn't ready to hear it. As far as I was concerned, if she'd lied to me about this, then everything about our friendship was suspect. I certainly didn't expect to ever see her again, but after Sink dismissed Roe and I at her request, I went back to the barracks and saw her belongings, still neatly arranged in the footlocker at the edge of the bed. A sharp kick slammed it shut and I let out a stream of profanity.

My anger increased when Winters announced she was being allowed to stay because, to my surprise, my first reaction was relief. Despite everything, I didn't want her to get kicked out. I was very uncomfortable with that feeling and happy when he also announced that she'd be moving to the officers' barracks until the rest of us were comfortable with having her back. At least I didn't have to deal with the awkward silence where our evening conversations used to be.

I asked her once, when we were speaking again, to be honest with me about what those next few months were like for her, tortured daily by Sobel the sadist and ostracized by men who had once been her friends. It was the only time since we had renewed our friendship that she refused to tell me the truth, probably to spare me from the guilt that she knew I would feel over not giving her the chance to explain herself earlier. I felt it anyway.

Watching her claw her way through training wasn't easy from the outside, so I can only imagine what it must have been like for her, but she handled it with grace. When George started running his stupid pool on how long she'd last, I remained detached until I could no longer stand the conversation. At last, one too many crude comments pushed me over the edge. When the others had cleared out, I stood up from my bunk, pulled a week's worth of pay that I'd tucked away in my footlocker, and slammed it down on the table. He seemed surprised that I was getting involved, but I'm sure my bet left him thinking I was crazy.

"Wow, a week's pay? What's your bet, Bull?"

"She gets her wings."

"What? You can't be serious! Come on, what are you really betting?"

"You heard me, George."

Weeks passed, and still she hung in. I watched her more closely than I wanted to admit, but as most of the others were watching her too; either waiting to see her fall out or just because she was a woman, nobody else seemed to notice at first… except George Luz.

The night she had to repeat the march with Christenson, he finally called me out on it. We were standing outside the barracks, arguing about the bet that I had taken care to make sure nobody else knew I had placed.

"Bull, are you sure? Look, I'll give you your money back. Nobody else knows you bet, so it's not a big deal. This isn't even fair. How is she going to make it through the night?"

"I'm not changing my bet, George. Blue gets her wings."

"Blue? You gave her a nickname? Where the hell did that come from?"

You know that moment when you've revealed too much to someone that you know will have a hard time keeping their mouth shut about it? Well, that was mine. George looked like a lightbulb had gone off over his head, although I wasn't really sure what he thought he'd figured out. So I gave her a nickname, I told myself. So what?

"Her eyes. They're blue."

"And you noticed this…?"

"I got stuck doing a drill with her a couple of weeks ago. Couldn't help but notice."

"Yeah, well I did a drill with her yesterday and I'd have trouble describing her uniform. What the hell is up with you, Bull?"

I was not comfortable with the course this conversation had taken. The last thing I really wanted to do was analyze the growing admiration that I had for Christina Green. I was still angry, and anything beyond that anger, I'd been trying my hardest to ignore.

"Nothing! But the girl is working her ass off, and she hasn't complained. She hasn't begged. She has put up with all the bullshit and she's still here. Sobel's an ass, and tonight is proof of that, but Blue is not going to let him win."

"And all this time, I thought you hated her."

He was smiling as though he knew something that I didn't. I wasn't prepared for what it was, or how much it would make me think over the next month. In fact, if I'd have known what he was going to say, I might not have asked.

"What are you smiling about, George?"

"You like her. That's what bothers you. Hell, if you'd known she was a woman from the beginning, you'd have fallen in love with her a long time ago. You want to hate her, and you know you'll never be able to."

I didn't have a chance to respond, or an idea of what to say if I'd had one. Two bedraggled uniforms had just limped in and pulled themselves up to attention before Sobel and Sink, who'd come to check up on the woman in the ranks. She looked unsteady, but she and the colonel left Sobel no choice but to grant our weekend passes. She managed to hold up until they made it around the corner before she collapsed.

I moved on instinct, there almost before she hit the ground. George shot me a knowing smile, but I didn't have time to worry about my pride. She needed medical attention. She'd joked that Sobel might be trying to kill her, but in that moment, it wasn't funny anymore. It scared the hell out of me, and as I carried her into the aid room, George's statement was playing in my ears like a broken record. The adrenalin of getting her safe and stabilized drowned it out at first, but back in the barracks, the buzz became a roar.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to reinforce the wall between us, but the foundation had been shaken and pieces were chipping away. A piece chipped away when I saw her so determined to face Sobel despite her dire condition. Another disappeared when Pat related some of their conversation during the march. The following Monday, when she pulled herself out of her sick bed to complete that run. When we marched to Atlanta and she cared for Malarkey without any fanfare.

By the time I saw her talking with Bill, absolutely giddy over being able to "fly," there was a great big hole in my carefully built wall. He told me after our final jump that they'd talked about me after I'd helped her with her chute. She thought I hated her. He wanted to know if that was true.

"I don't hate her, Bill."

"Yeah? Well, maybe you'd better tell her that. I get the feeling that getting her wings will be a little bittersweet unless she knows. She still thinks of you as the best friend that she lost. Of all the bullshit from everybody, I think your silence has probably hurt her the most."

The next day, I collected my winnings from George and found a flower stand just outside the base, capitalizing on the men heading out on passes to see wives and girlfriends. With the rose kept fresh in my canteen, I wrote a note and left the whole offering on her bed. It was the first step in rebuilding the bridge between us.

She sat across from me at the party that night, having won Bill over. She was glowing with her new wings and I had to remind myself not to stare at her. Then Hoobler let "BG" slip. George's love of gossip had long since given away my calling her "Blue." Her last name also being a color, the men were amused and "Blue Green" was born, quickly shortened to "BG," and kept secret from her, mostly because I'd threatened them all with their lives. Pat managed to sidestep the bullet for the time-being, but now that it was out there, it was only a matter of time until she heard the rest of the story.

George also managed to spill the beans about my bet, later telling Bill about our entire conversation on the night she collapsed. When the ice finally broke between Christina and me on the march a couple of days later, I agreed that she should move back into the barracks and they told me they were going to start taking bets on how long it took me to fall in love with her, which resulted in another threat of bodily harm.

You see, at that point, I was still ready to write it off as intrigue. I was intrigued by this woman who'd been through so much to be here, and had once considered her friendship valuable. That's all it was. I held onto that lie until I saw the photograph.

Pat and I were the first to realize that it was her. Pat had said it was her smile that gave her away, but for me it was those eyes. They grabbed me, even in the black and white photo, and my mind automatically painted them blue. As the men now clamored to compare the photograph to the woman before them, they struggled to reconcile the two images. For me, they blended seamlessly. As they tried to imagine her all dressed up for a date, I could already feel her hand in mine. I retrieved the photograph from the trash where she'd thrown it, intending to return it to her journal, but when I ran my thumb across it I couldn't let her go. It wouldn't be the last time.

Once I allowed her back in, I was surprised at how easy it was to pick up our friendship. She filled in the details of her life that had been hidden under her cover story, and I opened up about things I might never have admitted to another man. You know how male bravado can be. We had been the best of friends when she was Chris. Now that she was Christina, we were nearly inseparable.

Only Pat realized that I'd kept the photo so, despite his discretion, he found it particularly amusing when Bill and George began regularly asking me if I was falling in love with her yet. For nine months, I brushed off the comments. Then some stupid kid from D Company put his hands on her on the ship.

I had fallen asleep next to her after she slipped Vest some smokes so that we could bunk together. I woke up, alone and a little disoriented, to the sound of her yelling and Joe Toye demanding to know what was going on. Something was wrong. I was instantly alert with a singular focus. Protect my girl.

My girl. It echoed in my head long after Lieutenant Spiers came to save his boys from an Easy Company ass-whipping. Protecting her shifted from my priority to my purpose. The shift was subtle but significant. Physical affection, already comfortable, became constant. She spent most of the next twelve days in my arms. When we finally climbed into trucks to head from the ship to Aldbourne, George leaned over and whispered a familiar question which, despite the dirty look I shot him, I could no longer ignore.

"So, are you falling in love with her yet?"

I couldn't sleep that night. I didn't know why until I heard the rustling on the straw mattress next to mine. Did it feel so strange not to be next to each other now? Could it really be that simple? My hand reached out for her mattress and pulled her close, and things felt right again. Comfort and familiarity? Maybe. Habit? Possibly. But that didn't mean I was falling for her… did it?

I got my answer when she puddled into a sobbing mess in my arms after we staged our walkout on Sobel. My admission that I was scared of not being there to protect her and that I'd never have been able to look in her eyes and then walk away from her forced me to consider that my feelings had long since passed the point of no return.

By the time George tried to pull her from my lap at chow, I had finally admitted, at least to myself, that the answer to his ever-present question was "no." I wasn't falling for Christina Green. I had already fallen. The truth slipped out in a whisper against her ear.

"I'd be totally content to hold you forever."

Now, in a darkened room with the cloud of the coming invasion hanging over us, I wished like hell that I could do exactly that. I pressed a kiss against her hair in the light of the flickering film and she cuddled into my chest. We'd be on separate sticks for the jump, so when I hugged her tomorrow on the runway, it could very well be for the last time. For the first time since we'd arrived in Europe, I was truly terrified.


	9. Chapter 9

**SORRY THIS ONE TOOK A LITTLE LONGER, WONDERFUL PEOPLE. FINALS WEEK ALWAYS GETS A LITTLE CRAZY. I PROMISE I WON'T MAKE YOU WAIT SO LONG FOR THE NEXT ONE!**

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

I picked an incredibly inopportune time to realize just how deep my feelings ran for Denver Randleman, but the heart does what it wants when it wants and as I stood staring up into those blue eyes in the shadow of the waiting C-47s, there was no question that we'd long since left the line of friendship behind us. He wrapped me in his massive arms, pulling me in tight but gently, and I breathed him in, reliving our relationship through the quiet moments we'd spent together over the last 24 hours.

We'd been confined to the marshalling area for a couple of weeks, so we knew that it was only a matter of time. On the night they fed us ice cream for dinner, a matter of time became a matter of hours. The following morning, we woke up and began preparing for a jump, still waiting for our suspicions to be confirmed that this was "the jump," and then, with a letter from Colonel Sink, it was. We steeled ourselves for what was to come, busily prepping packs, chutes, harnesses, and leg bags. We didn't have time to think, and that was part of the design. Then came Meehan's announcement of the stand-down. Now, we had nothing but time to think.

Silent as it was in that movie room, because for once, even George Luz wasn't talking, there were a million thoughts screaming in the minds that filled it. Some men thought about their families and homes. Some men thought about death. Some thought about life. Bill, we later learned, thought about his fallen brother, building up a rage that would explode once he hit the ground in France. I thought about Bull.

I thought about evening walks and playful piggyback rides. I thought about his quiet, rumbling laughter and conversations that lasted until well after the others had fallen asleep. I thought about training and maneuvers where, for months and months, I could always feel his presence. He stood aside as I pushed my way through training, proud but protective, and always ready to catch me if I fell. I cuddled into his chest and wondered if we'd ever spend another night like this one. The way his grip tightened around me let me know that he was wondering too. When the movie was over, we drifted out with the rest of the crowd and back toward the tents. Mentally, we were exhausted, but sleep promised to be a rare commodity and many paratroopers spent restless hours in the darkness, waiting for the morning so that we could start the process over again. His arm moved from around my waist and he slipped his hand into mine as we walked, at last reaching our own tent and pulling me down on the mattress next to him.

We drifted in and out of fitful dreams throughout the night, but each time we woke up, the first thing we saw was each other. One hand still held mine, fingers interlocked, but the other would brush my hair back from my eyes or run a thumb across my cheek. It felt like we were studying each other, memorizing every detail in case one of us… in case something unspeakable happened. I was scared to look away, worried that if I did, he'd disappear.

As it does, morning came. In that first grayish light, before the others began to stir and the orders were barked from somewhere outside, there was a cloud of unspoken emotion hanging between us that neither of us needed translated. His lips grazed mine as he moved to kiss my cheek, and in that moment, my heart twisted with the fear that I might never know what it felt like to have him kiss me… really kiss me… but rumbling jeeps and yelled orders rattled the flap of the tent and ripped us out of our comfortable little bubble.

It was the most sickening feeling of deja-vu as we readied ourselves for that first jump all over again, but this time, it was clear that there would be no stand-down. It was time to put on my harness and climb into the plane. The war was real, and it had come to claim us all. Bill, although seething with hurt and anger over his brother's death, still checked me over carefully to make sure that there wasn't a strap out of place.

"I just lost my brother," he muttered when I thanked him. "I'll be damned if I'm going to lose my little sister too."

When he was done, I returned the favor, inspecting his pack and harness until he cleared his throat and motioned for me to turn around. I swallowed hard, a sickening feeling settling into my gut that I might be turning to say a final goodbye to the man that I now realized I couldn't imagine living without. He pulled me into his chest, our hearts pounding in sync as we choked back the terror and emotion that we were scared to put voice to out of fear that speaking it aloud would make it so. His chin rested on my head, fingers running through my hair, and I blinked back tears.

"I'll be right behind her, Bull. I'll take care of her," Bill promised.

I felt him release a deep, resigned sigh and loosen his grip so that I could look up into his pained eyes. His thumb brushed across my cheek and then his lips were against my ear, his voice coming out as a whisper.

"I need you to know that I… God, Blue, I just… Just come back to me, baby. Please."

I couldn't speak because I was afraid I'd start to cry, so I just nodded. We hugged again briefly, and he turned and walked quickly toward his plane, brushing a sleeve across his eyes. All I wanted to do was run after him, but Bill's voice brought me back to reality.

"You'll see him when we land."

"What if I don't?"

"That's not an option, Doll."

* * *

 **** BILL POV ****

It was hands-down the most painful moment I'd ever witnessed. Half of me wished that they'd just admit to being in love before, God forbid, something happened and they couldn't. The other half of me knew that, at this point, it might only serve as a distraction and this was not a time to be distracted. It made me even angrier to think that, not only were brothers being ripped away from brothers and sons being ripped away from mothers, but two people who had fought to find each other might never get a chance because of this fucking war.

The flight across the channel felt like it took forever and was over all at once. We could hear the booming thunder of anti-aircraft fire before we could see the coast out the open door of the plane. By the time the flak rattled across the metal, we were standing and hooked up. Flashes and tracers lit up the sky. We were flying too fast and too low. It didn't feel like I jumped out of the plane. It felt like I was ripped out. It was all I could do to hold onto my gun, which was the one thing I absolutely wanted to make it down with. After all, how could I kill all the Germans if I didn't have my gun?

Christina had jumped just before me and as we neared the ground, I could see in the flickering light of flaming plane wreckage that her chute had been shredded. She landed hard and I landed fifty yards away, ripping my harness off as I tried to reach her. Surrounded by the enemy, I couldn't scream her name to find out if she was okay or even conscious. I'd promised Bull I would take care of her, and it felt like that fifty yards took longer to run than five trips up Currahee.

"Chris! Chris! Answer me! Are you awake?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm awake."

"Are you hit anywhere?"

"No, I just landed hard. My side and my ankle are killing me."

I helped her to her feet and watched her steady herself, taking a tentative and obviously painful step. I was afraid that she might not be able to walk, but when I asked, she just gave me that glare of determination that said I needn't be worried. This was the woman who had won us over at Toccoa. She'd have hopped through the French countryside on one leg if that's what she had to do.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

We're going too fast. Why the hell are we going so fast? God, those damn airsickness pills have me so loopy. Is that why it seems like we're going so fast? Stand up. Hook up. Bill's behind me, right? Equipment check. Stand in the door. Oh my God, look how low we are! Fire everywhere. Planes falling. Bodies falling. Jump! Jump! Jump! Please let my chute open! Tracers. Am I gonna get shot before I even get down? Where is Bull? Please just let him be safe.

The rush of thoughts came so quickly that between them and the airsickness pills, it felt like my brain was spinning. Bullets and shrapnel ripped through my parachute and I hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of me. Before I could get up, Bill was beside me. I must have scared him to death when he saw me just lying there, but he helped me stand and balance as I tested my aching ankle and clutched my ribs. When he asked me if I could walk though, I think that my glare told him all he needed to know.

Together, we found our way to the railroad tracks. Along the way, we were reunited with Don, Joe Toye, and eventually, Winters and Lipton. Over the next few hours, we were baptized by fire into the stark realities of war. Bill found out about the death of his brother just before we jumped, and it was clear that he had landed ready to kill. I watched in horror as he, in direct contradiction to Winters' order, stood from our cover and mowed down a horse-drawn cart full of German soldiers. It was the first time I'd ever heard the lieutenant raise his voice. Light dawned, and we realized that the fields around us were littered with shattered planes and broken bodies. There were Americans hanging from the trees, still and forever trapped in their harnesses. There were Germans on the ground, fallen to the invading Allied forces. It was something we had all expected and tried to prepare for, but there is really no way to ever be ready.

We pushed forward anyway, trying not to wonder which of our friends might be among the dead. At one point, as we came upon a small farmhouse, a flash of strawberry blonde hair caught the sunlight and I saw a Screaming Eagle patch on what had been a fairly large man. One leg was bent behind him at an awkward angle, twisted in his parachute risers. For a moment, it felt like my heart actually stopped beating and I stopped abruptly, scared to move any further forward. I couldn't see his face, and as long as I couldn't see his face, it couldn't be Bull.

Don, who had bumped into me when I stopped in front of him, managed, "Chris, what the hell…?" before he saw what I was staring at and read my eyes. "Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

He walked forward and then, after a few moments, came jogging back and put his hand on my shoulders. I immediately assumed the worst, but he reassured me quickly, "BG, sweetheart, it's not Bull. Breathe, okay? It's not him."

I couldn't be relieved because there were too many other bodies that could be his. I couldn't hug Don because I was afraid I would start to cry. I couldn't cry because I was afraid I wouldn't stop. I did the only thing I could do. I walked into the bushes, threw up, rinsed my mouth out with a gulp from my canteen, and kept walking. By the time we made it to the assembly area, my ribs were aching and my leg was on fire. There was only one face I wanted to see in the crowd of Easy boys, and it wasn't there.

It was only by order of Lieutenant Winters that I agreed to go to the aid station, but when I got there, instead of allowing Eugene Roe to look me over, I found myself elbow deep in blood and bandages beside him. I was "walking wounded," and I couldn't just lie on a table while my friends were in agony all around me. We worked until every man had been treated, triaged, or given morphine to ease the pain until death, running on the will to save lives and pure adrenalin. It was a level of exhaustion that I hadn't felt since the night I collapsed at Toccoa. At last, Doc turned to look at me.

"I want you on that table there so I can take a look at you."

"I'm okay, Gene."

"You're limping and short of breath. Just humor me, take your shirt off, and lay down."

The oddity of those unintentionally suggestive words coming out of the chronically serious Doc Roe's mouth was enough to make me laugh. His cheeks tinged pink with realization, but even he allowed a small smile to cross his face before patting the table insistently.

"Okay, okay," I conceded, finally allowing him to check on the injuries that had been plaguing me since I landed.

My ribs, as it turned out, were an angry purple-green but, although it hurt like hell when he pressed on them, didn't appear to be broken. Bruised, or even cracked ribs amounted to a papercut in this environment as far as I was concerned. My ankle, however, couldn't be another issue. The swelling was immediately apparent when Doc pulled my boot off, and the colors matched my ribs.

"Christina, this is sprained really bad."

"Wrap it up, Gene. I've been walking on it since we jumped. I'll be okay."

He had already grabbed a bandage, knowing what I'd say, but that didn't stop him from glancing up and smirking about what a stubborn ass I was. When he'd finished, he told me sternly that he wanted me to lay there and rest for a bit while he checked on some of the others. Grateful for the moment's peace, I closed my eyes and took some deep, slow breaths. I'd almost dozed off when I heard a familiar drawl.

"Oh my God! Doc, what the hell happened to my Blue?"


	10. Chapter 10

**THANKS AGAIN FOR THE FANTASTIC REVIEWS!**

 **ALSO, PLEASE CHECK OUT THE VERY FIRST STORY FROM ONE OF MY AWESOME READERS, LJVS, CALLED "AN UNCONVENTIONAL SOLDIER" ~ SHE'S OFF TO A GREAT START, AND IT IS SO IMPORTANT FOR US TO ENCOURAGE AND CULTIVATE EACH OTHER'S CREATIVITY!**

 **ENJOY THE NEXT CHAPTER OF "BELIEVER" !**

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

I pushed through the Normandy countryside with one picture in my head. I found friends, fought enemies, and walked through fields that were knee deep in water, wreckage, and the fallen from both sides of the fight. Still, one thought pushed me. Somewhere, there was a pair of warm blue eyes scanning a sea of bedraggled paratroopers, looking for my face in the crowd. At least I hoped that there was.

The alternative was not something that I wanted to consider, but it surrounded me at every turn. Twisted, charred metal told the tales of some of the earliest 506th casualties, men who had never even made it through the door of the plane. I saw her face on every ruined body. Every time I saw some petite young soul, mortally wounded and hanging from a tree, my whole being went cold.

It was at one such bone-chilling moment that I very nearly lost the opportunity to ever hold her again which, despite my current position in the middle of the European theater of war, was all that I could really think about. I'd come across another body lying face down in the wet earth. I was still alone at the time and, in the darkness, I could tell only that there was a Screaming Eagle patch on the arm of a slightly built paratrooper. I needed to know. Hands quivering, I reached down to turn the remains over and drew back blood-covered fingers. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I had to allow it to pass before I could look down at the lifeless face. It wasn't her. It wasn't my Blue.

My relief was cut short though, when there was a rustling nearby that startled me out of my distracted state. I clicked my cricket. Silence. I provided the "flash" code. This time, I heard voices but not the "thunder" response I'd hoped for. They were speaking German, they were searching for me, and they were close. Having fixed my bayonet the moment I'd hit the ground, I was ready for them when they launched their attack. Some of the guys found me like that, standing stock-still over two bayoneted Germans and staring down at the body of a young American who could have just as easily been my girl as any of the fresh-faced youngsters I'd seen robbed of their futures.

At the urging of the others, I left the fallen kid behind and kept moving forward, now hyper-alert and high on adrenalin from my near-ambush. I resolved to push all thoughts that Christina was anything but alive to the back of my mind. Distraction wasn't an option because I couldn't protect her if I got myself killed. At last, our group reached the assembly area, already awash with the rumblings about planes that had gone down and people that were missing, including the entire Company HQ. I began searching the crowd of familiar and semi-familiar faces for my Blue.

"Perco!"

"Bull! Hey! Good to see ya. Check out my collection," he grinned, flashing an arm full of watches.

"That's great. Hey, have you seen Christina yet?"

"Uh, yeah. Last I saw her; Bill had taken her to the aid station, but…"

Aid station? Bill took her to the aid station? I didn't wait around to hear the rest, pushing my way in the direction that Frank had pointed until I stepped through a doorway. The scene took my breath. Bloodied paratroopers stretched from wall to wall. Doc, clearly tired but ever-determined, was walking among them doing what he could. Still, I didn't see her. Noticing my search, Gene made his way over to me.

"She's resting in here," he informed, leading me into another room.

Her eyes were closed. From the waist up, she wore only her brassiere, and one side of her body looked as though she'd been beaten. One boot lay on the floor, and her ankle, clearly swollen, had been wrapped in a bandage. But the part that truly terrified me was the blood. She was covered in it. The shirt that had been put aside. Her trousers. Her hands and arms. There were even traces of it on her face. My heart started to pound.

"Oh my God! Doc, what the hell happened to my Blue?"

She turned to look up at me just as he answered, "That's not hers. She was helping here. She's not that bad. Some bruised, maybe cracked, ribs and a sprained ankle from the jump."

Relieved to see her eyes open, I wanted to hug her but stopped short when I looked at her ribs again. Sensing my hesitation, she sat up and reached out to take my hand, pulling until I gently wrapped my arms around her. With her head resting on my chest again, I felt like I'd been given back my lungs. I released a long breath and pressed my lips into her hair.

"I'm sorry I scared you. I know I look like a mess."

"Are you kidding? Baby Blue, you're here. You're alive. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

When I saw him standing there, alive and unhurt, it wouldn't have mattered if every bone in my body were broken. I needed to hug him. I needed to know that he was real and not some exhaustion-induced hallucination. I needed his arms around me more than I needed to not be in pain.

The unexpected tenderness coming from this giant bear of a man was one of the things that I loved most about him. The way his arms held me, firm but gentle, as though he were holding a piece of fragile china. I buried my face in his chest and breathed him in, smelling the mud, the sweat, the blood, and underneath it all, the distinct masculinity and familiar, comforting scent that had enveloped me as I drifted to sleep for so many nights. Something that was purely Denver.

"I'm not hurting you, am I baby?"

"Only if you let go."

"Don't worry, Blue. I've got you."

We sat there for a long while just holding each other. His fingertips lightly stroked the bare skin along my spine and it was both comforting in its gentleness and maddening in the way my nerves were set aflame. I knew that he could feel the goosebumps and I looked up, meeting his eyes. They flickered with the same embers that had smoldered as we stood on the runway before the jump, which seemed so long ago now. His thumb caressed my jaw and I could feel heat pooling in the pit of my stomach as I remembered the way his lips had brushed mine when he kissed my cheek. Had that only been a day ago?

A cry of pain from one of the wounded snapped us reluctantly back to reality, and he helped me pull my shirt back on over my battered ribs. I was able to pull the boot over my bandaged ankle, but lacing and tying it proved excruciating now that the adrenalin borne out of survival instinct had worn off. I stood, deciding to leave it untied for the time being, and hobbled toward the door. I'd made it only a few steps when Bull, arms folded across his chest and watching me in amusement, let out a low laugh at my struggle.

"Come here, stubborn ass," he ordered, lifting me into his arms. I protested, but he just wrapped my legs around his waist, slipping one hand down to shamelessly cup my ass under the pretense of holding me in place. I looked up in surprise at this unusually forward display, but he just winked at me and my insides melted. "I told you, baby. I've got you."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

Being away from her in the endless hours between boarding the plane and now, wondering when… and if… I would find her safe, had been more than enough to convince me that I'd never again feel right without her. When I first looked at her in that aid station, what I really saw was my hope for the future lying vulnerable and unprotected. Okay, so maybe my hand on her ass wasn't exactly subtle, but neither would have been sitting her back down on that table and kissing her breathless and that was what I really wanted to do once I realized that she was okay. Her eyes showed surprise, but when I winked at her, they also held something else, something that gave me the hope that I'd get my chance one day.

D-Day would not be that day, nor would any day in the month that followed. The relief that we'd been promised after "three days and three nights of hard fightin'" didn't come. Winters took over Easy Company in the absence of Lieutenant Meehan, and we pushed forward through Normandy, taking Carentan and engaging in brutal battles along the hedgerows that saw many of our friends wounded or killed. Instead of holding Christina, I found myself carrying men who were full of holes or missing limbs.

Despite all of the mental preparation for war and its atrocities, nothing could have readied me for the intense, gut-wrenching discomfort that came with watching this blue-eyed piece of my heart run through explosions and gunfire to treat the wounded. It was hell, made even worse by those stretches of time when she was out of my sight altogether. Moments when the noises that surrounded me seemed to creep in and echo in my ears, like now, playing a nighttime waiting game with the Krauts just across the field. I could hear a commotion, and a voice that sounded like Talbert's was crying out in pain. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew that if someone were wounded, in all likelihood my Blue wouldn't be far away. I both admired and hated that.

It took every ounce of my common sense and willpower to stay put when every beat of my heart screamed at me to go find her, wrap her up in my arms, and tuck her away some place safe until this war was over. My hand slipped unconsciously across the breast pocket where I had tucked her picture before the jump and I closed my eyes in silent prayer. Somewhere in the foxholes and hedgerows, cloaked in inky darkness, was my whole world and nothing weighed on my mind more than the knowledge that I could not protect her.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Seriously, Smith, kid… you need to get ahold of yourself or you're never going to make it," I chided gently as Roe and I worked on Talbert's bayonet wounds.

I was pissed, but the private's face was so pale he was almost see-through and his eyes were damp from the ass-chewing that Liebgott had already given, and renewed every few minutes as Talbert continued to groan. Fortunately for Talbert, and for Smith, the two jabs he'd managed with his bayonet had not gone especially deep and, provided they didn't get infected, Tab would recover nicely. When I mentioned this, he only sighed and grumbled.

"Damned nervous kids out here stabbing before they even look. I mean, since when would a Kraut address you in English, by your damned name?"

I understood his point to some degree, until I noticed that he was wearing that stupid German poncho he'd been parading around as a trophy. Jeez. He'd probably come to wake the kid up from a dead sleep, behind enemy lines, and dressed like the damned enemy.

"Really, Tab? What in the hell were you thinking sneaking up on the jumpy little bastard dressed like a damned Kraut anyway? I'd have stabbed you just for being stupid!"

Joe laughed, but Tab just whined, "Come on, BG. Gimme a break. I'm wounded here."

"You'll live. Just stop moving around. Walking around in the dark, dressed like a damned Kraut. What a story."

"You're gonna tell the guys?"

"Oh, you bet your handsome, skewered Kokomo ass I'm tellin' 'em. If I don't, Joe will."

"Damn right," Joe confirmed quickly, and even Tab had to laugh a little in spite of the pain.

It was oddly calming to take care of Talbert's bayonet wounds because, although they were serious, he was alert, talking, and in fairly good shape considering his situation. After seeing so much death that I couldn't prevent, it felt good to be able to help a friend in his moment of need. That feeling lasted until they carried Floyd away. Then, as we made our way back to the line, Joe put voice to the thought I'd been trying desperately to avoid.

"Do you ever worry that, one of these times, it's gonna be Bull?"


	11. Chapter 11

**** SPEIRS POV ****

"We're all scared," I intoned to the wide-eyed private. "You hid in that ditch because you think there's still hope, but Blithe, the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to function as a soldier's supposed to function. Without mercy. Without compassion. Without remorse. All war depends upon it."

I stood to leave the pasty, blinking trooper to his fears, but as I moved into the darkness a voice caught me off-guard.

"Very pretty speech, lieutenant. Quite the morale booster."

Her slim figure materialized out of the shadows from the direction where Talbert had been bayoneted, and it surprised me because I wasn't typically one to be snuck up on. I usually did the sneaking.

"You disapprove, Private Green? You think I'm wrong?"

"No sir. Actually, I agree with you in principle. Not sure that your stone-cold approach really helped in this situation though. I'm just suggesting that perhaps your one-on-one bedside manner could use a little polishing."

I smirked. This brazen young woman had, it seemed, more nerve than a good number of her male counterparts. The enlisted men were wary of me. Rumors and half-truths had followed me almost since I joined the paratroopers. Something about my personality, I suppose, or maybe because this life seemed to come so naturally to me. I took to it as a duck to water. By the time we'd taken Carentan, the men saw me as something of an enigma and, in general, steered clear. When I did address one directly, or if they were forced to address me, particularly if they were outside of Dog Company, they tended to stammer and make the exchange quick. Not her. She seemed completely unperturbed by my demeanor and my notoriety. It intrigued the hell out of me. She was a challenge, and I decided that I was up for it.

"You know, I do believe that you're the first woman to ever challenge me on my bedside manner."

She laughed. She actually laughed at me. I looked over in surprise, nearly tripping over my own boots as I watched her amusement.

"Oh my God, really? Did you really just use that line?"

"Well…" Unsure of what to say, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of a blush creeping onto my cheeks. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

"Should I be?"

"Most troopers are."

"Well, I don't find you to be all that scary. Besides, with all due respect, I'm not most troopers," she declared, jumping down into a foxhole.

No, she certainly was not most troopers. She was, however, fascinating, and as I walked away, I found myself reflecting on what I knew about the rather infamous Private Christina Green. She'd come to training posing as a man, been discovered, and somehow talked her way into being allowed to stay. That alone was impressive. Sobel's sadism was well-known, and what she endured after her secret was discovered had been regularly discussed by officers and enlisted alike. Still, here she was. She'd outlasted the bastard, won back the respect of her company, and rushed forward into danger to care for the wounded as we fought through Normandy. Fascinating indeed.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"What did he want?" was the greeting I received from Bull when I jumped into the foxhole beside him.

The greeting was so unexpected that I managed only, "Huh? Who?"

"Speirs. What did he want?"

"Nothing. We were just talking on our way back from checking on Tab."

"Oh."

His attitude threw me completely off and, to be honest, irritated me a bit. I hadn't seen him much in the last few days, and this had not been the reunion that I anticipated.

"Wow. Really? I get to see you for the first time in days and this is what I get? What's wrong with you?"

"Blue, wait. I'm sorry." He caught my hand as I moved to climb from the foxhole. I glanced back at his pleading eyes and he tugged my hand until I turned, pulling me down into his arms. "I'm sorry, baby. You're right. I guess I'm just a little jumpy. I hate not being able to protect you."

"It was Speirs, Denver. Not a German," I protested, and the sheepish look on his face immediately told me there was more to the story. "What's with you?"

"It just… I just…" He let out a frustrated growl and finally said, "I just don't like the way he was looking at you."

Realization flooded my brain and I stared at him, slack-jawed for a moment.

"Are you… jealous?"

"What? No! Of course not. It's not like we're dating or something! Why would I be jealous?"

The answer rushed out a little more quickly than he probably would have liked because he was suddenly busy with checking over his weapon, looking in his pockets and musette bag for something, shifting to get more comfortable... anything that meant he didn't have to look directly at me.

"I don't know, Denver. Why would you be jealous? It's not like you're the only friend I can have. I can talk to whoever I want!"

"I know that! I mean, you talk to Easy boys all the time. Just... not to him."

"What does that matter? I don't see why it makes a difference who..."

His frustration, with himself for allowing his feelings to be so transparent and with me for not understanding what he was fighting not to say out loud, finally boiled over.

"Because I don't have to worry about any of the Easy boys making a pass at you! Especially not in front of me! They aren't tall, dark, handsome, mysterious officers who flirt with you and make comments about you and their bedside manner! And I hate the way he watches you, like he's stalking prey or something!"

He was jealous. I couldn't believe it. This was a side of him that I'd never seen, and while the feminist part of me was indignant that he thought he had the need or the right to approve or disapprove of my conversations with other men, there was a whole other side of me that wondered where this new possessiveness was coming from. Was it that simple selfishness that boys sometimes display when someone tries to play with a toy they don't necessarily want at the moment, but feel that they've already laid claim to? Or was it something else? Something that suggested that our friendship was, in his mind, just a holding pattern until we could get through this war and explore something deeper? That flicker of hope in the part of my heart held by my steadfast best friend grew to a burn as I watched him, arms folded across his chest and glowering against the muddy wall of the foxhole.

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

It's not like I set out to get jealous. She was in a man's world, and I understood that. There was a comfortable camaraderie with the men of Easy. Taking care of her was a mutual goal, and I felt no discomfort when she talked or laughed or hugged any of them, even after I'd finally begun to admit to myself that I had feelings for her. Even Talbert, the incorrigible skirt chaser that he was, had never left me uneasy with his harmless flirtations, but when I saw her walking with Speirs, my stomach tightened.

As an officer, I respected the hell out of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs. He was intelligent, capable, and fearless in the heat of battle. A true combat leader. Outside of that, though, he was every man's worst nightmare. Especially for a simple Southern enlisted fella like me. He was well-spoken, when he spoke at all, brooding and enigmatic with striking good looks, and there seemed to be this moth-to-the-flame magnetism about him. He drew people's attention without trying to, and it seemed that the men were always talking about him and the women, when there were any around, became flustered at the very sight of him. In short, he looked like he'd walked right out of some damned Hollywood war movie to remind me that this was one competition, if he chose to put any effort into it at all, I could not possibly win. How could I compete with a seductive Boston lieutenant floating thinly-veiled flirtations and making her laugh?

I was vaguely aware that I looked like a petulant child as I reclined against the side of the foxhole, cross-armed and irritated at this latest development, and she was clearly fighting back a smile at my sullen display. I didn't care. Ignoring my crankiness, she leaned forward and tugged playfully at my arms. Not swayed, I resisted her attempts to unfold me from the defensive position until she finally sat back on her heels.

"Come on, Bull. You can't punish me because you don't trust Speirs. Besides, I'm not in his foxhole. I'm in yours, remember?"

"Yeah, for now."

"Oh my God. Fine. I'm not watching you pout all night over this. I'll go find room with Pat or Luz or somebody," she announced, moving to climb out of the hole.

"Blue."

I only just managed to catch her wrist and she turned to glare at me.

"What?"

"Come here."

I said nothing else. She held the glare as she evaluated the apology in my eyes and finally turned and knelt in front of me again. I held her gaze for a long beat, unsure of exactly what to do or say in the tense silence that followed. At last, she huffed and put her hands on my chest, pushing me back into my previous reclining position and laughing at the shocked look I must have had on my face. Then, before I could speak or react, she crawled between my knees, cuddled into my chest, and pulled my arms until I wrapped them firmly around her waist. Slender fingers slipped to the inside of my shirt searching for warmth, and came to rest right over my pounding heart. She brushed a light kiss along my jawline and then, with the sweetest sigh of contentment, curled into me and fell asleep.

It was accepted as unspoken truth among the men of Easy that "BG" was off limits for attempted fraternization. I'd never really said anything, but several of the boys told me that there was something in my very demeanor that basically dared any of them to try it. I could live with that. Speirs was a wild card. A wrench thrown into my carefully constructed comfort zone. He wasn't at all concerned with my assertions of restricted access, verbal or otherwise, and he certainly wasn't worried about crossing me. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted and it occurred to me, laying there in the quasi-paradise of holding her close as her fingers drew mindless circles on my chest, that if he had set his sights on my Blue, I could be in big trouble.


	12. Chapter 12

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Where the hell did they come from?" Welsh was screaming as I passed him, running between wounded men.

I followed his gaze and saw that the "they" he was referring to were tanks. German tanks were bearing down on the field that stood between our hedgerow and theirs. How the hell were our guns going to stand up against tanks? I heard a blast and then the exclamation that our left flank was now gone, pulling back away from the devastating onslaught. More frightening than that, at least to me, was the sight of Bull being lifted off his feet and hurled to the ground just a couple of yards away. I sprinted toward where he lay, screaming as I ran.

"Denver! Get up! Please God, please get up!"

It took seconds to reach him, but it felt like hours and by the time I did, he was moving again. I was met with a bear hug tackle as he tucked and rolled back through the hedgerow and into a foxhole, curling his body around mine as another tank shell burst slammed into the ground nearby. It thundered in my ears and rattled the earth around us, raining dirt and debris, but still he kept me safe. Even as he fluidly swung his rifle up to fire, his hulking form shielded me.

I could hear a call for a medic, but when I moved to answer it, he refused to let me go, yelling over the noise, "Doc will get it!"

"Bull, I have a job to do!"

"I told you, Roe will get it! He's already over there! You don't need to be running around in this shit!"

I started to argue, but he began firing again, effectively drowning out my protest. I had no choice but to wait for the battle to die down. At last, I heard the sound of cheers and the roar of Shermans rolling through the field. Crunching metal and explosions proudly proclaimed the might of the Allied artillery and the Germans quickly decided to live and fight another day. They retreated and as the noise waned, Bull rolled to the side and leaned back against the berm he'd been firing over.

"Medic! BG, where are you?"

I looked at Bull on my way toward the noise.

"Am I allowed to go do my job now?"

I caught the wounded look on his face as I jogged away and felt a little guilty for being so harsh. After all, I knew he was just trying to protect me, but he had to realize that this was a war and I had a job to do. I wasn't all that keen about him being shot at either, but we hadn't met at ballet class. We were paratroopers, for Heaven's sake.

I reached Christenson, who was knelt down beside a panicking private with fairly minor shrapnel wounds, and went to work. He watched me carefully for a few minutes, waiting for me to finish cleaning and bandaging before he spoke up.

"You okay? Took you awhile to get over here. Did we get a lot of wounded or something?"

"Well, Pat, I really wouldn't know," I answered sharply. "I couldn't get out of the foxhole to check until they retreated."

"What? Why?"

"Because Bull had me all tucked underneath him like a damned mama bird sitting on a nest, and he wouldn't let me out until the firing stopped! And to top it off, he got jealous because Speirs was talking to me!" Instead of sharing my irritation, or at least looking surprised by Bull's unreasonable behavior, he chuckled and I narrowed my eyes at him. "What is so funny?"

"The two of you already bickering like an old married couple. That's what."

"Yeah, well you can stop laughing. It's not funny. He's driving me crazy."

"Look Chris. You've got to understand how hard it is for all of us to see you running around in the middle of a firefight. We know how good you are, so please don't take it the wrong way when I tell you that it's never going to be easy for us to see our girl in danger. So, if it is hard for us, I can only imagine how hard it is for Bull." I started to protest, but he held up a hand to stop me before adding, almost as an afterthought, "It's in a man's nature to want to protect the woman he loves."

That phrase stuck with me as I made the rounds to check on everyone, and echoed in my ears as I walked back toward the foxhole and the forlorn face of my best friend, the man whose presence had grown to be my favorite part of every day. I knew how I felt about him but in the interest of self-protection, I'd tried not to entertain the notion that my feelings were reciprocated. At least not to the same degree. But there had been no mistaking the earnestness in Pat Christenson's eyes when he made that last statement. The love he was suggesting was one beyond friendship and it would explain, in four simple letters, the overprotectiveness and the jealousy that he seemed to feel toward Speirs. Was Pat right?

I neared Bull just as he climbed from the foxhole and he looked down at me. When his eyes met mine, what I saw there hit me so hard that it almost knocked me over. There was the ever-present concern and, to my dismay, pain left over from our earlier disagreement, but there was also something else. Interwoven with these familiar emotions were flecks of things that I'd never really paid close attention to before Pat made his off-handed remark. Admiration. Affection. Desire. Maybe even, dare I say, love. It was also clear, though, that he was not quite ready to speak it into being yet. I could respect that. Still, it didn't change the swell in my heart.

He was guarded as I approached, probably worried that I was going to go off on him again, and he put his rifle down and his hands up in surrender as he tried to intercept me, saying, "Look, Blue, I'm sorry if…"

I cut him off by standing on tiptoe to wrap my arms around his neck. For a moment, he was still. Then, slowly, his hulking form enveloped me, powerful arms slipping around my waist and lifting me fully off the ground. I laid my head against his shoulder and he nuzzled affectionately into my neck, and for a few minutes we just relished the closeness. I finally broke the silence with a whispered apology.

"Denver, I'm sorry for earlier. I shouldn't get mad at you for caring and wanting to keep me safe. Just try to understand that it's important to me to do my job and help whoever I can. I need to feel useful too."

"I know, baby. I know. And I'll try. I really will. It's just hard for me, okay? I don't know what I'd do if…" He trailed off and sighed before finishing, "I'm never going to get used to the idea of you being shot at."

The "I love yous" remained unspoken between us, but hung in the air like a thick haze that you couldn't help but be aware of. In that moment, it didn't really need to be said. There was too much going on and we had too far to go to leave ourselves any more vulnerable than we already were. I think we both understood that, on the same wavelength, as usual, without even trying. Still, we both tightened our grip.

"I don't want to lose you either."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

I brushed my nose along the soft skin under her collar and felt her shiver. That I could provoke such a reaction with that simple touch was an empowering feeling. In another place, under different circumstances, I pictured myself brushing my lips along that same tender patch of skin. Grazing her jaw. Whispering in her ear. Caressing her cheek. Meeting her mouth with my own. For now, though, I'd just have to settle for holding her a bit tighter, relishing the feeling of her in my arms.

Ordered to move out again, I reluctantly put her back on her feet and, noticing that Speirs was looking in our direction, pressed a kiss to her forehead. Maybe it was jealousy or possessiveness. Maybe it was machismo. Maybe it was just that the feeling of having her in my arms at that moment had cemented my determination that no mysterious, handsome officer was going to swoop in and steal her. Whatever it was, he turned away with the hint of a smirk on his face.

Easy's time at the front of the Normandy campaign quickly stretched from the originally promised three days to more than three weeks. The tactical brilliance of the Winters-led attack at Brecourt Manor had revealed what we already knew. Easy Company was an invaluable asset. That, of course, was a double-edged sword because, as flattering as it was, it also meant that we would be in the line of fire… a lot.

Even more unsettling than the battles though, was my realization one day that Speirs intended to put up a fight for Christina after all. I hadn't really paid much attention to him after the hedgerow battles, aware of him mainly as a secondary presence hovering around the edges with his own Dog Company, shouting orders and encouragement as any good combat leader would. I was more concerned with the fighting and with keeping her safe while trying to balance her frustration with my overprotectiveness. He returned to the forefront of my mind again when Pat Christenson approached me one night.

"Hey Bull, um, I know that you and BG had an argument about her talking to Speirs so I thought I should tell you that he was asking me about her, and about the two of you."

He instantly had my attention.

"What? Why? What was he asking?"

"He said he knew you two were best friends, but wanted to know if she had a guy back home. Then he asked if the reason she seemed irritated with you sometimes is because you were so protective. Made some remark about how a spitfire like her probably hated being babied. I kinda got the impression that he was attracted to her."

Noticing that she was returning from her bathroom break, we cut our conversation short and Christenson smiled apologetically at me before walking away.

"Yeah, thanks Pat."

Sure enough, over the next few days, I began to notice that the lieutenant was often near enough to direct his encouragements toward Blue, apparently adopting Nixon's nickname of "tiger," during firefights and to offer her specific praise afterward. I had little doubt that this was a purposeful tactic anyway, but it was more than confirmed as I approached the two of them talking one day. He saw me over her shoulder and, wearing the same smirk he'd had when I'd kissed her forehead, made sure that I was within earshot as he punctuated their conversation with a clearly targeted statement.

"Well, like I said, you know I think you're a hell of a paratrooper and medic. I can't imagine anyone keeping you out of a battle. Seems a little controlling to me. Beautiful, intelligent, strong young woman like you doesn't strike me as the type who likes to be controlled." Then, gently brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek with his thumb, he smiled and added, "Anyway, be careful out there, okay tiger? See you around."

With that, he turned to walk away and, as we came face to face, his eyes and smug smile issued an unmistakable challenge. He wanted my Blue. The question was whether she returned the sentiment… or if she could be seduced into it. I watched him go, my mind spinning with thoughts of him touching her. Kissing her. Making lov… I couldn't even think of it without my stomach jumping to my throat. As always, she sensed my tension.

"Hey," she said quietly, slipping her arm through mine and wrapping her tiny hand around my bicep, tugging me toward an area where we could lay down for the night. "Come on. I'm tired, and you know that I can't sleep without you next to me."

I looked down and the moment I met her eyes, any thought of Lieutenant Speirs was momentarily forgotten.

"You'll never have to Baby Blue."

That drew a smile that, once she was safely tucked against my chest, I spent the rest of the night dreaming about.


	13. Chapter 13

**** BABE POV ****

We replacements felt a little bit like fresh meat in a den full of lions. In front of us, a gregarious guy they called "Smokey" was balancing himself on a pair of crutches, having just returned from the hospital, reciting a poem about something crazy that had happened with two of the other men. He already had three Purple Hearts pinned to his chest, souvenirs from his first few weeks of combat. The paratroopers I saw around the room were mostly about my age, relaxed and laughing, clearly enjoying the embarrassment of the subjects of the poem. Still, if you looked closely, the eyes were wizened and weary, aging their youthful faces.

She was no exception. I'd been more than a little surprised to arrive in Aldbourne and find a woman among us, much less a combat-experienced female paratrooper. I quickly found out though that while Corporal Christina Green, having received a promotion upon Easy's return to England, was prone to surprising people, she was not one to be underestimated. When fellow Philadelphian Bill Guarnere stopped me that day and we began our friendship, I finally saw the chance to ask about this woman among us who had so clearly won the respect of her peers.

"Oh, BG? Yeah, she's something else. Snuck into the program pretending to be a man, paying off the medical boys who did the physicals with some money she got when her parents died. She got found out, talked Sink into letting her stay, and then put up with hell from us guys and all the bullshit that bastard Sobel could dish out. He almost killed her one day. No exaggeration. But she gutted it out. No fear in battle. Beauty, brains, and balls as big as any mans, only you can't see 'em on the outside. You'll never meet a tougher skirt in your life, kid."

"Wow. I mean, I figured she was pretty incredible, but wow."

I must have been staring over at her in admiration, because he quickly added, "She is, but for the record, ya see Bull over there? That's his girl. I mean, they aren't officially together, but that's just details. Those two were made for each other, so don't you young bucks be getting any ideas."

His tone was teasing, but clear, and when I spent a few minutes watching BG (a nickname I'd come to understand later) and Sergeant Randleman together, it was also clear that he was right. She seemed at ease with everyone, but with Bull, the affection between them spoke clearly of their mutual admiration. So out of place was it given our circumstances that they'd obviously refrained from admitting the truth to each other, at least for now, or so Bill said. That made sense, I supposed. Still, as Sergeant Lipton announced that we were going to move out again, I saw him pull her in and press a tender kiss to the top of her head and wondered how long they'd be able to push aside the obvious.

* * *

 **** BUCK POV ****

We had a lot of false alarms between the end of June and the middle of September. Patton's 3rd Army had been overrunning our intended drop zones, leaving us grounded, often within hours of the jump. The veterans, including me, were frustrated with constant change of plans. The fresh-faced replacements were getting restless, all of them sure, as we had once been, that they were ready for their first taste of battle. I almost envied their naiveté, but that didn't stop me from taking advantage of it.

So maybe I, with the help of George Luz, hustled a few of them here and there. Hey, soldiers will be soldiers, and a pack of smokes or two for a game of darts wasn't a bad day's work. I really thought I was top dog at working angles, at least until I saw the way Speirs had been angling for Christina. It would have been fairly impressive if it weren't so blatantly underhanded.

I'd noticed over the course of the Normandy campaign that he seemed to spend an unusual amount of time and effort talking to, encouraging, and praising the girl known as BG. I paid little attention to the oddity at first, until I saw something that caught me completely off guard just before we were pulled from the line. It was a simple gesture, and had it been anyone else, I never would have given it a second thought. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Ronald Speirs, the man who took great amusement from the fact that most of the enlisted men ducked their heads or shuddered when he passed by. He had all the tenderness of a starving tiger when he was in a bad mood, and the approachability of hibernating grizzly bear when he was in a good one, so imagine my surprise when I see him, all smiles, sidled up to Christina and deep in conversation. Then, and I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself, he actually reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her softly on the cheek before walking away. I had actually just witnessed Ronald Speirs in a public display of… affection? Something was definitely up.

I got the chance to ask him about it once we had returned to England. The officers sat playing cards one night and he mentioned something that she had said. I took the opportunity.

"Yeah, I noticed you and BG had been getting kinda close lately. Strange, I thought that she and Bull had something going. I mean, everyone in Easy pretty much figures they'll wind up married."

"Well, Buck, he hasn't exactly made his interest, beyond friendship, known or clear as far as I can see," he quipped, a sardonic smile on his face as he shuffled the cards. "And I have."

"And you think you can swing her attention from the man with whom she's been attached at the hip for the better part of two years?"

"Why not? He keeps her as a friend. He discourages her from involvement in combat. He babies her, and I can tell she doesn't like it. So I don't treat her that way. I treat her like she's a combat-capable paratrooper who just happens to be an attractive young woman."

"That's why you're always cheering her on? You're doing the opposite of what Bull does that she doesn't like?" Harry Welsh demanded. His smirk confirmed it and we stared at him for a moment, slack-jawed at his audacity. Then Harry shook his head. "You're a sneaky bastard, Ron. Do you know that? But I gotta be honest, I don't think it's gonna work. I've seen those two together. Even with your whole tall, dark, and handsome thing, you don't stand a chance."

"I guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

"Yeah, I guess."

* * *

 **** SPEIRS POV ****

I could tell that the others didn't really think much of me expressing my interest in Christina, and that was fine. I was perfectly justified in going after her as far as I was concerned. Sergeant Randleman had no real claim on her as far as I could see, despite what the members of Easy Company seemed to believe. She was a single woman. I was doing nothing wrong.

I told her that she was beautiful. I said that she was smart and strong. I informed her that she had earned the right to be treated just like every other trooper, regardless of her gender, and encouraged her passion for helping her fellow troopers in the heat of battle. Was it really my fault if Randleman chose not to?

Buck and Harry seemed pretty confident that I didn't stand a chance, but I wasn't concerned. I was accustomed to getting what I wanted. I knew she was as intrigued by me as I was by her and, being an opportunistic man, I capitalized on that whenever I could.

One such chance came when the Division was sent to Zon, Holland in Operation Market Garden. The daytime jump was smooth and without opposition, and we were feeling pretty good as we headed toward the first bridge that we were supposed to secure, Dog Company lined up not far behind Easy as we advanced on the Wilhelmina Canal. Bull was, from what I could see, offering instruction and advice to the nervous replacements and I had to admit that I had a great deal of respect for him as a soldier. He was, after all, a conscientious squad leader and shared his hard-won knowledge freely with the green new additions.

We were within sight of the bridge when the ground began to shake, a low rumbling filling the air. I had just enough time to realize that our daytime jump, while uncontested, had given the Germans plenty of time to sabotage the bridges before a terrific explosion ripped through the still air. Bull, having been in the midst of explaining something to a Private, didn't have time to reach Christina. Amid the hail of splinters and timbers, I took my opportunity and threw my body across hers, shielding her from the debris.

When, at last, the world stood still again, I looked down at her, brushing her tousled hair back. Her face was just centimeters from mine and I could feel her breathing quicken at the gesture. I smiled down at her.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you. Are you okay?"

"I'm good. Maybe a splinter or two. Looks like we may spend the night on this side of the bridge though. Here. Let me help you up so you can go help Roe check on your boys."

I pulled her to her feet, holding her hands a bit longer than was necessary, satisfied to have her meet my eyes and swallow hard. When I released my grasp, I watched Bull watching her as she made her way over to him, and as she turned several times to look over her shoulder at me. From the look on his face, I figured he'd try to keep her close that evening, so I was more than a little surprised when she found her way over to me after all of the men of Easy had been checked on and treated.

"May I see your injuries, sir?"

"Nobody can hear you right now. It's Ron, sweetheart, and I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"Ron, I can see the damage to your uniform. Let me see your back. I can't have you getting some kind of infection."

She didn't wait for my answer before she knelt behind me and pulled my uniform up, exposing my back, and I laughed at her pushiness before allowing her to continue her mission. Slender fingers brushed my bare skin as she removed several splinters and shards and treated the minor wounds they left behind. The silence was electric as we both pretended not to notice the goosebumps littering my skin while she worked, and when I glanced over my shoulder and caught her eyes again, I could feel it flowing like a current between us. Everything in me screamed for me to close the distance and kiss her.

"Speirs!" Captain Winters' voice called my name, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Speirs, can you come over here? We're working on some plans to get across."

"On my way!" I answered quickly, turning to glance back at Christina, but she had already hurried away, and although I was fairly sure she had run back to Bull's arms, I couldn't help but feel satisfaction in knowing she'd be thinking of our moment while she was there.


	14. Chapter 14

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

"You okay, Blue?"

He was asking me, but he was looking in the direction of Speirs. He'd been fighting hard not to say anything about his jealousy since we'd had our argument, but I knew it was still there. I wanted to reassure him, but I didn't know how at this point. I'd have been lying if I said I wasn't intrigued by, even attracted to, the dark-haired, stern-jawed officer. Although I really didn't have anything to feel guilty about because Bull and I were not together, it still felt strange. I decided to follow Bull's lead and not verbally acknowledge the situation for the time being.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just making sure that everyone got taken care of."

"Right. Yeah. Of course," he muttered distractedly. "So, um, looks like we're stuck for the night. You wanna find a place to get comfortable?"

"Why don't you find a place to get comfortable?"

He glanced down at me, his face a mixture of surprise and something else… disappointment maybe?

"You're not coming with me?"

I grinned at his confusion.

"No, I mean you should find a comfortable spot for yourself, sweetie. I'll be cuddled up to my life-sized teddy bear, so I'll be comfortable anywhere."

A slow smile spread across his face and, for the first time in a couple of weeks, it reached all the way to his eyes. One strong arm slipped around my waist and pulled me protectively against his side as we walked over to the area that several of our other friends had gathered, finding our own open piece of ground. He leaned back against a fallen timber, picking up a conversation with Bill, Toye, Liebgott, and several of the others as I stretched out and lay down, resting my head in his lap and closing my eyes as he played with my hair. Dozing intermittently, I caught snippets of the conversation that surrounded me which, once they assumed that I was asleep, eventually turned to me and Speirs.

"So what the hell is the deal? He's awfully chummy with her lately," I heard Bill ask.

I could tell by the way he shifted that the question made Bull uncomfortable, most probably because he couldn't answer it. Still, the anger in his voice surprised me a little.

"I don't know, but I fucking hate it."

"Did you see the way he threw himself all over her when the bridge blew up today?" Leibgott condemned. "Pretty damned shameless if you ask me."

Pat's voice contributed, "I don't know. He asked me about you two that one time, and it seems like ever since then, he's around her as much as he can get away with."

"Yeah," came Bull's growl again. My ears perked up as he continued. "And using every chance he can get to undermine me in her eyes. Playing up the quiet, mysterious thing. Flattering her. Saying that he has faith in her abilities, as if that means that I don't. Painting my overprotectiveness as though I'm trying to control her. Always talking to her and touching her. He's trying to seduce her."

Now, Joe Toye's voice joined the conversation, low and serious.

"Seriously, Bull, what are you going to do if it works? If he's able to… win her over?"

I heard a heavy, sad sigh and felt him run the backs of his fingers gently across my cheek. I could almost feel that he was looking down at me as he decided how to answer Toye's question. Finally, a quiet answer came and, to my surprise, it put my confused mind at ease.

"I said I'd always have her back, and I always will. Even if she decides that she wants to be with him. All I want is for her to be safe and happy. But he's full of shit if he thinks he, or anyone else on this planet, has more faith in or admiration for this little angel than I do."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

I put thoughts of the Dog Company leader out of my mind as we crossed the canal and made our way into Eindhoven the following day, not wanting to distract myself any longer with things that I couldn't control. Instead, I returned my focus to getting myself and my Blue through another mission alive, and noticed that, for the first time in a while, she stayed within an arm's reach of me as we crept cautiously toward the town. She didn't even protest when I tucked her behind me as an upstairs window came open, guarding her from a potential sniper until the orange flag billowed out and signaled friendly contact. I wasn't sure if the change was related to the bridge explosion or something else, but I wasn't about to question it.

The hero's welcome we received as we entered Eindhoven was beautiful to witness, but dangerous in many ways. The streets teemed with people, all celebrating the coming of the Allies after over four years of German occupation. They wanted to hug and kiss us. Some danced. Some cheered and waved flags. Some gave food. Talbert busied himself with a dark-haired young lady. All the while, many of us scanned the upper windows, fully aware of the threat of snipers as we were engulfed by the crowd. Every few seconds, I checked behind me to make sure she was still there as I tried to use my much larger form to clear us a path. I was so wrapped up in pushing us both safely forward that I almost didn't notice that I had walked us into an area where the mood was much different.

"Oh my God, Bull," I heard her gasp. "What the hell is going on?"

Her face shone horror, and I followed her gaze. Only then did I hear the jeers and the screams. There was a circle of angry Dutch, and in the center of that circle were women who had been forced to their knees. Their clothes were torn, their heads were being shaved, and their bodies marked. Then they were led away, exiled from the town. I overheard a man say that it was because they had slept with the Germans, and that the men who had collaborated were being shot. Her small hand slipped into mine, and she buried her face against my chest to block it out. At the time, I had no idea that before the war was over I would see a disgustingly ironic similarity between the way these women were being treated by their own townspeople and the way the Nazis, for whom they bore such hatred, were treating those they deemed unworthy. I only knew that this ugly representation of man's inhumanity to man was more than I cared to watch, and that my Blue, who was becoming increasingly upset by the scene, was unable to get away on her own.

"I've gotcha, baby. Just hold on. I'll get you out of here."

I lifted her, pulling her legs around me so that I could carry her while pushing my way through the crowded streets until the screams of the women could no longer be heard. At last, Easy Company was able to assemble in one area and wait for orders from Winters. Those orders turned out to be that we would settle in until morning. Day turned into night and the crowds slowly abated. Blue and I found ourselves with a group that was comfortably camped out in an air raid shelter, thanks to Hoobler, Webster, and a kind Dutch family.

Some of the guys, still riled up from the celebration of the day, got a card game going but I declined to participate. I hadn't slept well the night before, and I was just looking forward to getting comfortable. I found a darkened corner to sit down in, leaned myself back into the niche and closed my eyes. I'd barely drifted off when I felt a nudging at my knees and smiled as this slight, soft creature nestled down into the space she'd created between my legs. I cracked my eyelids to watch her as she turned to get comfortable against my chest.

"What?" she asking, laughing as she felt my eyes on her face. "I'm just getting comfortable."

"Nothing. Just wondering what's with you today. You've been close to me all day, and you haven't complained one time about my overprotectiveness."

"Well, I'm sorry that I've been acting so out of character."

"Hey, baby, I'm not complaining!" I insisted, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her closer. She smiled and settled back against me, looking up so that I couldn't help but notice how dangerously close her lips were. More quietly, I added, "You know I'm always happy to have you close to me."

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

There were any number of reasons why I had stayed so close to Bull that day. Some of them I could admit to. Others, not so much. What he had said the night before. The fact that I loved him, even if I didn't feel as though I could tell him. The crowds. The explosion of the bridge. The abuse of the disgraced women.

There was one other reason that I felt so drawn to Bull. I had woken up that morning with an uncomfortable feeling of dread, and although the day had been unusually jubilant for a war zone, I remained apprehensive. For some reason, I just needed to make sure he would still be there when I woke up.

"Hey, really, are you okay?" he asked after our playful exchange. "You know that I can always see in your eyes when something is wrong."

I hesitated and he squeezed me gently until I finally admitted, "I had a nightmare last night. I don't know, Bull. I just have a really bad feeling about this."

His right thumb and forefinger tilted my chin upward, his voice hushed and eyes solemn as they looked into mine.

"Blue, there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect you. I swear I will keep you safe."

"I'm not worried about me," I replied quietly, wrapping my fingers around his wrist to hold his hand against my face. He inhaled deeply, both of us sensing that this was much deeper than a simple bad dream. "That nightmare… I just… Denver, if something happened to you, I don't…"

I didn't get a chance to finish, interrupted by the gentle, unexpected pressure of his lips against mine. The kiss remained chaste. Despite the electricity surging between us, he took it no further, instead pulling away slowly and brushing his nose against mine as my eyes fluttered open.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, darlin'."


	15. Chapter 15

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Vincent van Gogh was born in Nuenen!"

"Yeah. So?"

Ah, the friendly exchange of information between Webster and Cobb. Our resident college boy was always doling out his pearls of wisdom and Cobb was always quick with a smart remark to let him know that he wasn't impressed. The banter had become comfortably familiar, and it made me smile as the tank I was riding on rolled toward the town. Beside me, Bull pulled a ration from his pack and I quickly traded it with one of mine.

"Sweetie, take this one instead. That one's got eggs."

"Aww," Hoobler teased. "You two are so cute."

Bull shrugged and grinned as he threw an arm around my shoulder, shooting back, "What can I say, Hoob? My girl takes care of me."

He pecked me affectionately on the cheek as I handed the unwanted ration to a replacement walking beside us, who handed it off to one of Eindhoven's disgraced women standing beside the road and clutching the baby born out of her relations with a German soldier. Things were fairly quiet, until they weren't.

Lieutenant Brewer had wandered way out in front, too far from the protection of the convoy, and stood staring at a map in the middle of the road. Hoobler nudged Bull to point out that he might as well have painted a target on himself, and Bull yelled for him to come back to the tank. He had just enough time to turn around before the shot rang out. It went through his neck, dropping him immediately, and a Kraut tank rolled out from its hiding place. All hell broke loose.

All at once, we were in battle again and we were scattering everywhere, diving desperately for cover. I ducked behind a brick wall with Johnny Martin while Bull, who was normally always at my side in moments like these, was across the street, pinned down behind a column. From our position, the hidden Kraut tank was clearly visible despite its camouflage, but the British were rolling forward, oblivious to the danger ahead. John ran to warn them, but they refused to fire through the building, leaving us to watch the inevitable destruction in helpless horror. The explosion rattled my shelter and my eardrums, and I looked up just in time to see Bull sprinting from the column as another round hit the spot where he'd been.

"Fall back!"

So much for the Krauts in Holland being old men and kids. There would be no joyous parades today. We began to run, using walls and the ditches beside the road for protection. I stopped along the way to help Cobb, who had a near-miss when the wall beside him exploded, and Buck Compton, who managed to get shot through the ass and had four holes from one bullet. Both were eventually pulled to the safety of the trucks by other guys, but I suddenly realized that I had lost sight of Bull and I ran back toward the sound of gunfire.

"BG!" Martin was yelling. "Get in the damn truck!"

"John, I can't see Bull! I'm checking the other side of the road!"

"No, Christina! Get over here!"

I didn't listen. I wasn't leaving without Bull. As I reached the top of the embankment, I saw his broad body rising above the roadway. He must have been searching for me too, because the relief that washed over his face when he saw me was unmistakable. He had taken a step toward me when I heard the metallic clank of the round making contact, and I thought I heard him scream my name, but it was quickly drowned out by the roar of the exploding tank.

There was no time to move. It felt like the inferno that had engulfed the blazing tank was reaching out to get me. There was the most surreal sensation of being lifted up and thrown off of the embankment, followed by the shock of the ground rushing up to meet me. My last thoughts were of Bull.

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

God, please tell me somebody saw her. Somebody grabbed her and pulled her out and… oh my God, what the hell is she doing up here in the open? She's alive and okay and thank God, but why the hell isn't she in a truck? I've got to get her to safety. What the hell was… the tank…

"Blue!"

My voice was inaudible above the sound of the tank blowing, and my first concern when the shockwave threw me backward was that if it could throw me that far, what it had done to her. Then I became aware of the searing pain in my right shoulder, and finally, I realized that the burning tank was now rolling down the embankment toward me. I began to bear-crawl and pray. The drain pipe opened up in front of me like a window, just large enough for me to wedge my body inside as the area was overrun with Krauts. I could hear the Allied forces, including Easy Company, falling back away from the area and I hoped like hell that Christina was among them but my view of her had been obscured by the explosion, so I really had no idea.

Night had fallen around me before I braved coming out into the open. A nearby barn offered shelter and, as far as I had seen, it was Kraut-free. I made my way inside and reclined against the back wall, my waning adrenalin giving rise to the incredible pain in my shoulder. I could feel a large piece of shrapnel buried in the muscle but, at least for the time being, I had no way to remove it. Minutes began to feel like hours, and I, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. I very nearly killed the farmer when he entered the barn unexpectedly, pausing only when I heard his teenaged daughter gasp in fright. The rumble of a vehicle outside alerted me that they were likely trying to hide from the Krauts as much as I was, and I pulled them toward the rear of the barn and my original hiding place.

We did not share a language, but my labored breathing and sweat-soaked face apparently needed no translation. The man reached for my shoulder, ripping open my clothing to reveal what I could only assume by his reaction was a gaping wound. The liquor in his flask burned all the way to the bone, but I declined his offer of a drink to ease the pain. As he probed the wound, first with his fingers and then with my knife, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to mentally transport myself somewhere else. For the briefest of moments, I was back in Arkansas, lying on a blanket in the bed of my truck with a full moon shining down and Blue wrapped safely in my arms. Then I felt the tearing of flesh and, finally, the release of pressure as the metal shard came free.

My relief was short-lived, however, as almost as soon as my field surgery was complete, Kraut soldiers entered the barn to relieve themselves. The three of us crouched in tense silence. Noticing nothing amiss, the men filed out. All but one. He stopped and stood over the rag that had fallen from my wound as we hid, fresh blood alerting him that he might not be alone.

"Hello!"

The girl started at his call, jarring a bucket. The startled soldier turned to search, but I was on him before he could ready his weapon and, underneath the roar of planes flying overhead, we waged a vicious battle for our lives. I won, at least as much as you can win when your choices are to kill or be killed, and after he fell, I hustled the farmer and his daughter out the back of the barn and urged them to run for safety in case the other soldiers returned. Covering the fallen man with hay and straw, I slumped back against the wall, feeling the exhaustion begin to creep up, and pulled the worn photograph out of my breast pocket. She stared at me over her shoulder, her eyes silently pleading with me to stay alert and keep fighting to get back to her. I ran my thumb across her cheek and tucked the photo back into my pocket, whispering aloud and wishing that she could hear me.

"I'll find you, baby. I promise."

My sentimental moment ended when I heard noise again just outside the barn door. Muffled voices came through the wooden slats, sometimes harsh orders and sometimes cruel laughter. There were sounds of struggling as they dragged someone or something toward the doors, and I crouched in the darkness so that I could assess the situation, hoping to avoid another fight if possible. The doors opened and four shadows appeared against the wall of the barn. Three were walking, half-carrying and half-dragging the fourth that appeared to be putting up a hell of a struggle. For a moment, I wondered if it might be the farmer or his daughter. Then I heard the voice and my blood ran cold.

"Get the hell off of me!"

She managed to free one leg and deliver an impressive kick to the groin of one man and, in the course of the fight, the moonlight through the window illuminated her face and confirmed my fear. These Krauts had their slimy paws on my Blue, and in this secluded barn, away from their comrades, there was little doubt as to their intentions. I saw red.

The butt of my rifle met the kidney of the first man I reached and he released his grip on her to face the new threat. In my rage, he was dispatched rather quickly, as was the man who moved to defend him. Her final captor, the one whom she had kicked, now stood alone. As I turned my attention toward him, he punched her hard across the jaw, laying her out across the straw covered floor. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, but as I moved toward her, I was met by the tip of his bayonet. His lips twisted upward into a sadistic smile and his thick German accent grated across my ears as he addressed me in English.

"You cannot protect your girl, American."

Time seemed to slow down. I raised my rifle, readying a thrust with my own bayonet as he turned his attention from me to where she had landed, on her back, on the floor. We moved nearly in sync. He spun his rifle and jabbed in downward just before mine pierced his chest. He fell, his rifle beside him, and I kicked it away, kneeling to make sure that he was indeed dead before breathing a sigh of relief.

"Bull?"

Her voice came from beside me, but it didn't sound right. It was shaky and scared. I turned toward her. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at her hands, which looked, at first, like they were melting. Then it hit me. Not melting. Dripping. Dripping with her blood. I crawled over to her and took her face in my hands.

"Don't look at that. Just take deep breaths, okay? Let me look."

Even in the dim moonlight through the window, it wasn't hard to spot the blood soaking through her uniform or, once I ripped her blouse open, the deep laceration that was the source of that blood. During our last exchange, the Kraut who had so smugly told me that I couldn't protect her had left behind a grievous bayonet wound in her lower abdomen.

Blood was oozing out above her hipbone, but it didn't appear as though it had gone all the way through so I pulled my own shirt off and wrapped it around her as best I could, trying to staunch the bleeding. She hissed in pain and my eyes pricked with tears as I moved her, as gingerly as I could, into my arms and sat down with her in my lap in the back corner of the barn. Her eyes were wet and I could tell that she was trying not to cry, either out of her need to appear tough or her desire to protect me from knowing how much pain she was actually in. I pressed my lips to her forehead.

"I know it hurts, baby. Just hang in there until I can get you out of here. Doc will get you some morphine."

"It hurts so bad, Bull," she confessed, her voice dropping to a frightened whisper. "Am I going to die?"

"No! Don't say that! Don't even think that!" I put her hand to her chest, my voice cracking, and declared, "Do you feel that? That's your heartbeat. It means you're alive, and as long as you're alive, you don't give up. Understand? Because I'm not gonna give up. I'm gonna get you out of here."

She rewarded my firm tone with a weak smile and nodded, "I know you will."

It looked like her bleeding was contained, so it became my purpose to keep her awake, warm, talking, and focused on anything but the pain. I told her that I expected the Germans to move on at first light, and that as soon as the coast was clear, I would carry her out. She told me about being thrown by the tank explosion and how she had been playing dead for several hours before her captors noticed that she was still breathing. Intending to take her prisoner, they'd quickly discovered that she was a woman and plans had obviously changed. When the silences seemed too long, I'd nudge her and ask if she was still awake. She always answered. My Blue was a fighter.


	16. Chapter 16

**THANK YOU TO MY AMAZING REVIEWERS! I APPRECIATE YOU SO, SO MUCH! HANG ON FOR THE RIDE...**

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

At some point, my adrenalin finally waned, and I must have dozed off. What woke me were the rays of the early morning sunlight peeking through the slats of the barn. It took me a moment to orient myself, and I looked down to see Christina, eyes closed, lying in my arms. I smiled at first. Her face was so beautiful and peaceful. It was the blood that brought reality crashing back down around me. Christina! Eyes closed! No!

"No, no, no, no, Christina baby, you've gotta open your eyes for me! No sleeping right now!"

I patted her cheeks. I shook her. I called her name. Nothing. No response. I fought back a wave of nausea as I pulled her face against my cheek, but the tears sprang to my eyes anyway. She was breathing, but it was light. Too light. And her skin was so cold. My fingers fumbled to search for a pulse against her neck. I could feel it, but only just. She'd lost so much blood. God, maybe this was my fault. Maybe I should have tried to walk out with her last night and get her some help. I struggled to my feet with her deadweight hanging so limply in my arms, my tears altering my vision like watery lenses over my eyes. I kept talking, praying that she could still hear me as I croaked out my pleas for her to keep fighting.

"Blue, baby, please… Please just stay with me, okay? I'm gonna get you out of here. They'll fix you right up, good as new, just like when Talbert got stabbed. Okay? Blue? God, please! Please just fight, baby! You have to fight! You have to be okay!" In my clumsy, tear-blinded state, I stumbled over the fallen body of Private Miller, landing on my knees beside him. Seeing his gray, lifeless face in that moment wracked my body with sobs so that all I could do for a long moment was hold her cheek to my lips and cry. At last, I managed to whisper in her ear, "You can't die on me, Blue. I don't want to live without you."

* * *

 **** HOOBLER POV ****

I was ready to dance when I saw that jeep carrying Bull, until it pulled alongside us. His face was grim and dirty, with visible streaks where tears had run down, and lying lifeless and blood-soaked in his arms was the body of Christina Green.

"Holy shit! Load up right now!" I ordered, shoving the rest of the confused search party toward the jeep. "Go, go, go! BG is hurt bad! We gotta get her back now!"

I couldn't help but notice that, despite the fast and bumpy ride, she never stirred or showed any indication of consciousness or life, and I began to worry that she was already gone. What scared me most were the swollen, bloodshot eyes of my squad leader. He had broken down, and that just didn't happen. Bull said nothing, and I knew that now was not the time to ask what had transpired in the hours since they'd gone missing, or how she'd been so gravely wounded. The giant man's quickly shattering heart probably couldn't take much more, and if she had died in his arms he might never be the same again.

People crowded to greet us as the jeep finally slowed, unaware of the delicate situation until I stood up on the back tire to yell for Doc Roe. Bill, among the first to reach us, quickly saw what was going on and began screaming for the others to make a path for the medic. Roe looked her over, touching her ashen face, and gave Bull an apologetic glance.

"Doc?" Bull choked out, somewhere between pleading and disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. She lost too much blood. I don't know if…"

"No. No! What do we need to do? Where do we need to go? I'm not just gonna… I can't just…"

Bull Randleman could no longer speak, and the men of Easy were fighting tears. Doc was trying to talk the jeep driver into taking them to an aid station when Speirs, who'd been hovering around BG a lot lately, suddenly appeared beside us causing the larger man to visibly tense. I prepared to intervene, knowing that if Speirs chose this moment to play his game of "win the girl," Bull would absolutely lose it. The group held its collective breath as the officer looked at her lifeless form, and then met Bull's eyes for a moment.

"Get back in that jeep, Sergeant Randleman. Roe, ride with him and offer whatever aid you can," he ordered, without breaking Bull's stare. Then, as they compiled, he looked to the Private in front and said firmly, "Driver, you get these troopers to the nearest aid station as quickly as possible. Go!"

Bull, overcome with worry and relief, managed a soft, "thank you sir," as the jeep sped away, and we all began to pray.

When the jeep caught back up with us a few hours later, Bull's shoulder was bandaged and his face was grief-stricken. Several tried to ask him questions but he acknowledged no one as he trudged dejectedly into the barn where we had taken shelter. The group turned to Roe.

"It didn't look good. They made us leave," he explained softly, watching Bull walk away. "He had bandaged up the wound on her stomach, but she was bleeding on the inside. They said she probably would have made it if she'd gotten there hours ago. Now, they think she's lost too much blood. Her body is so weak that they don't think she'll make it through the night, and that's not even talking about if she gets an infection."

Murmurs of disbelief, worry, & sadness circled the group before Johnny Martin said something that I really hoped wasn't true.

"We need to look out for him right now. If I know Bull, he's blaming himself for not walking back last night. He's already in bad shape losing her. If he thinks it's his fault, it's going to eat him alive."

I realized that he was probably right. Most likely, given that he was surrounded by Krauts, staying out of sight had been the wisest decision, but I knew Bull wouldn't see it that way. Not when it came to what would've saved his Blue.

* * *

 **** WINTERS POV ****

The Bull Randleman who walked into that barn was a much different man than the one I'd served with for the last two years. His face was drawn, eyes vacant. Men tried to talk to him, but he just stared through them as though he couldn't hear what they were saying. Doc Roe explained the discomforting situation. Looking back over at the broken man, I realized that I'd have to find a way to pull him back from the edge. He'd get himself killed in this state. I thought long and hard about what to say, waiting until many of the others had drifted to sleep before making my way over to the corner he had secluded himself in.

"Bull, I know this is hard for you, and I am so sorry. Christina meant a lot to everyone, but she would want us all to keep our heads up and keep fighting. Especially you."

He looked up at me, and in the place of the massive man was a scared, lost little boy. His eyes were damp and his lower lip quivered.

"But it's my fault, sir. I should have carried her out. I should have fought through the Krauts and…"

"And they'd probably have killed you both."

"At least we'd be together."

He said it so immediately, and with such conviction, that it broke my heart. For a moment, I searched for the right words, and then I realized there weren't any right words. At last, I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Bull, you did the right thing. You protected her in the best way you could. She's a fighter. As long as her heart is still beating, she has a chance."

"That's what I told her last night."

"Good! She always listens to you," I smiled, and he relaxed a bit and nodded. "Listen, Bull, we need you. So take all of this hurt and focus it on the Germans. Don't let them get you both just because you're distracted. You know Christina wouldn't want that. And remember that your friends are all here for you. Including me."

* * *

 **** MARTIN POV ****

Bill and I exchanged worried glances as we sat on the dusty floor of the barn, each leaning back against the wall on either side of Bull. The silence was heavy. He'd been staring off into space for the last two hours, not speaking, hardly blinking, and scarcely even breathing. Doc tried to get him to eat, or even just to drink some coffee or water. He didn't even acknowledge the medic.

"Bull," I prodded softly, nudging him so that he finally looked at me. What I saw there was truly frightening. His eyes were empty, as though the life had been drained out of him. He was making eye contact, but I wasn't sure that he was actually seeing me. "Hey. Talk to us. What happened?"

He looked away without speaking for a minute, and when he turned back, a single tear was sliding down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away as he began to tell the story. His voice was weary but matter-of-fact as he spoke about the tank explosion, the barn, the Dutch farmer and his daughter, and the first Kraut he'd had to fight off, but as he reached the part where BG had been dragged into the barn, it began to waver.

"There were three of them. I could tell that they'd captured someone, but I couldn't see who it was until the moonlight hit her face. They'd found out she was a woman, and I had a pretty good idea of what they'd brought her into that barn for. So did she, apparently, because she was fighting tooth and nail. Got a pretty good kick in on one of them. I managed to take one from behind, and another before he could react, but the third one," he trailed off, his voice faltering completely as he choked back his pain. "He had his bayonet up. Then he punched her and knocked her down. I went for him and put my bayonet through his chest, but I didn't realize until after I made sure he was dead that…"

He was crying so hard now that he was gasping for breath. Bill put a hand on his shoulder and I handed him my canteen, allowing him to gather himself before pushing him to continue.

"You didn't realize what, man?" Bill asked quietly.

"He'd stabbed her in the stomach. She said my name and when I turned around, there was blood all over her uniform. I stopped it as best I could, or at least I thought I did. I held her all night. Talked to her all night. Tried to keep her awake and tell her things would be okay. She kept trying to reassure me and make me feel better, but she was in pain. So much pain, Bill. And I tried! I tried to take care of her! But he was right."

Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, and he was looking down at his hands, still streaked with her blood. He shook his head, his voice now bitter, although the blame appeared to be directed inward. He was angry with himself.

"Who was right?" I demanded.

"The third Kraut. He was right. He told me before he stabbed her that I couldn't protect my girl, and he was right. I didn't protect her. She asked me if she was going to die and I told her I wouldn't let that happen. I lied to her. The last conversation I ever had with her was a lie. It's all my fault, Johnny. I didn't protect her, and I didn't get her back fast enough and now she's dead."

"Bull, don't say that. You don't know that. They were gonna try to do surgery, right? For the internal bleeding? So they thought they could help. That means something," I tried to argue, but even I wasn't completely convinced as I thought about Roe's face when they'd returned.

Several men had been taken to the aid station once we'd established ourselves in the barn earlier that afternoon, and one of them, a private who'd received a minor flesh wound, managed to return just at that moment before Bull could respond. Nixon asked him for an update on the other wounded.

"Well, sir, Lieutenant Brewer is going to be okay, and Doc Mampre was donating blood when we got there, so he will be fine. Lieutenant Compton was lying on his belly, but still cracking jokes, so he seemed okay. Was already talking about how to get back. Some probably will be going back stateside, but they should come out alright."

"What about BG?" Hoob asked. "Did you see her? Could they give you any update on her?"

"Well, um…" Bull looked up, and the kid glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The private's hesitance to answer made my stomach drop. Bull sensed it too, and I felt him tense in anticipation. "When I asked the doc about BG, he told me that he was sorry, but that she was already gone."

I think every heart in that room, including those of the officers, cracked in two when he confirmed our worst fear, but Bull was inconsolable. He was on his hands and knees, his bulky form shaking with sobs as he wretched and emptied the contents of his stomach. He was near hyperventilation as Bill and I tried to calm him. Even Winters came over and knelt beside him, but it was little use. My best friend had been destroyed, and there was nothing I could do to fix it. When he finally did catch his breath enough to respond, I felt as though I was the one who'd been bayoneted.

"I was supposed to protect her! I promised! I didn't carry her back! I fell asleep and she laid there in my arms alone and bled to death! How the fuck am I going to live with that?"

"Bull," I started.

"No, Johnny! She was the love of my life! My future! My everything! And I let her die!"


	17. Chapter 17

**** HASHEY POV ****

Sergeant Randleman was emotionless. The news that BG was gone swept through the barn that night like a whirlwind, and carried his heart and all of his passion out with it. As we fought our way through the area that we came to know as "The Island" for the next month, he would deliver his advice and instruction as always. He remained an incredible squad leader and continued to take care of everyone under his charge, but he no longer had much regard for himself. I'm really not sure what kept him from walking in front of a bullet, except that maybe he just couldn't bring himself to let her memory down.

We made it through the month, but Bill landed himself in the hospital with a bullet wound and a broken leg. We lost a few others along the way, including Moose Heyliger, who was wounded shortly after taking over Easy when Captain Winters got promoted. His replacement, Lieutenant Norman Dike, was a brass-polishing empty uniform, wholly unprepared for combat, and generally anywhere other than leading his men. All in all, for as ready as I thought I had been for combat, by the time we made it to Mourmelon, I was more than a little relieved to be in France. Holland and Operation Market Garden had been an unquestionable failure. Most of us were back in one piece, at least physically, but with Bill hurt, BG dead, and tales of being home by Christmas now a fleeting memory, morale was anything but high. Everyone worried about Bull.

He ate little and said less. When we weren't drilling or doing PT, he usually spent his time walking alone through Mourmelon or lying on his bunk, staring off into space and chewing on a cigar. Every once in a while, I would see him start to reach for something in his breast pocket, but he always hesitated and left whatever it was alone. Not that he had ever been much of a talker, but the whole company agreed that this silence was a frightening one. We tried to draw him out, get him to talk. Answers, when they came at all, were generally one or two words or, more often, just body language.

The first time her name was mentioned in his presence, it felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees. Every man just kind of froze. One of the new replacements was talking to a group of us as we left a movie one night. He asked about the "notorious skirt of Easy Company," and the conversation came to an abrupt halt. I stood closest to the Sergeant and I could feel his whole body tense. I chanced a sideways glance at his clenched jaw as he stared at the floor while the private looked from person to person, trying to figure out what had just happened. At last, his eyes misty, Bull cleared his throat to hide the emotion he was choking on and walked away into the darkness. We all released our breath like air being let out of a balloon, and Garcia explained the situation to the bewildered newcomer. The poor kid looked ready to shed tears of his own, but we assured him that Bull would know that he meant no harm by the question. After that, we were careful not to talk about her within his earshot, so it surprised me when, one night while we were alone in the barracks, he brought her up.

"You writing to your girl, Hashey?"

I looked over to where the voice had come from, his usual spot on his bunk, staring upward.

"Yessir."

"What's her name?"

"Anne. Her name is Anne."

"Is she your Blue, Hashey?"

The question surprised me almost as much as the fact that this was the most he'd spoken since she'd been gone. He never looked at me, but the question had not been an off-handed one. He was waiting for an answer.

"Yessir. I believe she is."

"Make sure of something then, okay? Consider it a favor to me."

"What's that, sir?"

"If you've found what I almost had, you hang on to that girl. And you marry her as soon as you can."

* * *

 **** MARTIN POV ****

"Bull. Bull! Wake up!" I whispered fiercely, shaking the larger man.

The room was quiet and dark. The rest of the men were asleep, but I'd been woken on the top bunk by what felt like an earthquake. Beneath me, my friend appeared to be asleep, but he was thrashing and turning so much I thought I might fall off the bed. It had to be a nightmare. It wasn't the first. To my knowledge, I was the only one who knew he was having them, and I was certain that they were about her. I always tried to wake him before any of the others caught on. He was a man of fierce pride. It would have bothered him tremendously to think that the others would see his weakness, even if we all understood. We were close enough to save him any embarrassment from my waking him up, but he still refused to discuss the nightmares with me. It wasn't hard to figure though that this was why he tried to avoid sleep as much as possible. Every time his body caved to the exhaustion, he saw her behind his eyelids.

"Wha…? What? I'm awake. I'm awake."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Was I dreaming again?"

"Yeah. Bull, you're exhausted. You've got to talk about these nightmares."

"Johnny, I don't…"

He started to argue and sit up to walk outside for one of his late night walks.

"Save it, Bull. I'm not trying to press you, but you've got to find a way to talk this out. What happens when we jump into Berlin? Christina wouldn't want you to end up dead because you were too exhausted to think straight."

He sighed and sat up on the edge of the bed.

"I feel like I keep fighting that Kraut over and over again, Johnny. Every time I fight him, no matter how hard I try, she dies. I throw my body across hers before he stabs her, and the bayonet goes through me to her and leaves me without a scratch. His voice plays over and over in my head. You can't protect your girl. It's like he's taunting me from the grave."

It was heartbreaking. I had nothing to offer him but my condolences, and it killed me that I couldn't do anything to help. He ran a hand across his face and sighed as though telling me about the nightmares had exhausted him even further. The silence was thick for a few minutes, until he broke it again.

"I should be dead right now. It just doesn't seem like it should even be possible for me to be walking around."

"Why's that?"

"You tell me. How does a man go on living without a heart, John?"

I didn't have an answer. I wanted to tell him that time would help, but we'd been in Mourmelon for two months and, truth be told, he'd gotten worse instead of better. Those of us who'd known him since Toccoa began to wonder privately if he'd ever recover. With the brass talking about a Mid-March action, we hoped that he'd at least find his will to live before we returned to combat so that we could all breathe a little easier, but that wasn't to be.

I'd convinced him to come watch a movie the following evening. Instead, we were sitting front and center when the bomb dropped that we would be leaving immediately for Belgium. The Germans had hit a weak Allied front in the Ardennes Forest and, apparently, they were being decimated. Trucks, not planes, stacked up to carry us toward the devastated line. Easy was rife with fresh-faced replacements, devoid of combat experience. The weather was well below freezing. Rations were low. Ammunition was lower. Winter clothing was non-existent. Oh, and let us not forget our absentee CO. We weren't headed for another jump. We were headed for a bloodbath.

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

The best part about the cold was that it made me numb all over. Our surroundings looked as colorless and dead as I felt. Only the sounds of the shelling reminded me that I was still in the real world and not trapped in some lonely purgatory. There were moments when I just wanted to walk out into the middle of that field, loaded down with ammunition, and kill as many of those Kraut bastards as I could before I met my maker. The knowledge that one of my well-meaning friends might follow me out to stop me, and that I would potentially be responsible for the death of another person that I cared about, was the only thing that kept me in my foxhole.

Bill had gone AWOL and made it back to Easy before we were ordered to Bastogne. I heard him say that he'd seen Moose and that he was recovering, although it would be a long road. I was happy to hear it, but a part of me still raged. Moose had been badly wounded and then overdosed on morphine. Lieutenant Brewer had been shot through the neck because he'd put himself out in the open. Moe Alley had been shredded by a potato masher, and he'd gone AWOL like Bill and was here with us now. They had lived. Yet, for some reason, God had seen fit to take my Blue. I asked him all of my questions on every single one of those lonely, late-night walks I'd taken when we were still in Mourmelon. I'd never gotten an answer.

I heard the whispers. I knew my friends were concerned. It wasn't my intention to worry anyone, but I wasn't a man to lie either. They were right. My personal welfare was of little importance to me at this point. I cared for my squad and for my friends, but as far as I could see, Sergeant Denver Randleman had died in a ramshackle barn in Holland. The shell left behind was here only to fill a uniform and protect my men, a sort of penance I had to pay for not being able to protect Christina.

We were surrounded. The Kraut bombardment was relentless and there was, at times, a feeling that none of us would make it out of this one alive. Still, we were paratroopers and we were equally relentless in our defense. As Christmas crept up, we held our ground despite the lack of supplies and, finally, on December 26th, Patton broke through and opened a line so that supplies and reinforcements could flow. We had been charged with holding Bastogne under the worst of conditions, and we had done it.

When my exhaustion pulled me into sleep, I had a dream. A figure appeared across the snow covered field, walking toward my foxhole until I could make out her face. Christina jumped down into the hole, beaming at me as she held out her arms for a hug. I wrapped her up and buried my face in her hair, breathing her in.

"Oh my God, Blue. Are you real?"

"You know the answer to that, Denver."

"I miss you. I miss you so much. I'm so sorry. So sorry, baby. I should have…"

Tiny hands held my face and she smiled up at me, wiping my tears away with her thumb.

"Bull, there was nothing you could have done differently. You've got to forgive yourself. Fight for me, okay? Keep fighting and you'll see me again. I promise."

I pressed my lips to hers, whispering, "I love you, Christina Green."

She smiled at me again. Then she was gone and I woke up, still feeling her warmth in my arms. It had felt so real. With a trembling hand, I reached for the picture that had remained hidden in my pocket since the night she was wounded. I managed only a few seconds before emotion overcame me and I had to turn the photograph over to hide her face and regain my composure. Instead, my breath caught in my throat when I saw that there was writing on the back that had not been there the last time I'd looked at it. It was hers, written in the same script with which she wrote in her journal, and I realized that the only time she could have written it was when I had fallen asleep holding her in the barn. These were her last words. I read them with tears rolling unashamedly down my cheeks.

"This was peeking out of your pocket. Didn't know you kept it, but I like knowing I'm close to your heart. I hope it's always that way. No matter what happens to me, I need you to be okay. Please. I love you, Denver Randleman. Wherever I am, I will always love you. ~Blue"


	18. Chapter 18

**DEAR READERS! I AM SO VERY SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPDATE! LIFE HAS BEEN CRAZY AND, TO TOP IT OFF, THE DRIVE I KEEP MY STORIES ON WAS DAMAGED. I THOUGHT I'D LOST EVERYTHING! LUCKILY, IT HAS BEEN SAVED AND I WAS ABLE TO GET THIS STORY BACK ON TRACK. PLEASE ENJOY AND I WILL UPDATE WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER SOON!**

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

My first reaction when I heard that Hoobler died was jealousy that he'd get to see her again before I did. My next thought was that what had happened to him, Bill, and Joe Toye would have broken her heart. When Muck and Penkala got hit a few days later, I barely reacted at all. I was still dead inside, going through the motions. Only that dream, and her plea for me to keep fighting, got me through the eventual siege of Foy and the days that followed. Now I sat, half-dazed, on a pew in a Rachamps church, wondering if the heavenly music of the nuns sounded anything like what Christina was hearing wherever she was.

Captain Speirs stopped beside me in the aisle. He had assumed control of the company during the siege of Foy, stepping up admirably when Dike had proven he was indeed incapable, and validating the sense of awe that he seemed to inspire in everyone. I glanced up and met his stare, seeing, instead of pity, an affirmation of my grief that was laced with respect. He had never tried to tell me that he was sorry. He didn't excuse me from pushing forward because my heart had been ripped out. He challenged me and expected me to honor her by fighting on. He treated me like a soldier, and I appreciated it. Again, beside the pew, he kept his silence, giving me only a brief nod and a firm pat on the shoulder before walking out. I settled back into the music, my body giving out again at last and pulling me into sleep.

I dreamed of her again. This time, I was in an unfamiliar bunk in an unfamiliar room, but lying in an all too familiar position, staring silently at the bunk above me and wishing that the emptiness inside me could swallow me whole. A commotion outside the door drew my attention and my annoyance. I couldn't understand why they insisted on trying to pull me from my self-styled abyss. Didn't they understand how painful it was to live?

"Bull!" one of them was calling. "Bull, you've gotta get up and come out here! You're not going to believe this!"

It sounded like Luz. I pretended not to hear. Then I heard the sound of crutches scraping across the floor. Curiosity finally got the better of me and I looked up, shocked to see the stern face of Joe Toye, propped up beside my bunk on his crutches and missing half of his leg, four Purple Hearts gleaming on his chest.

"What the hell? How the hell are you here on one damned leg?"

"A better question would be what the hell are you doing walking around like a dead man with two good legs? You're alive, damn it! Act like it!"

"I don't want to, Joe. I don't want to be here."

"I brought you something."

"You what?"

Before he could answer, she was there. I instantly came off of the bunk, sputtering questions and trying to get an explanation. Then she was in my arms. There were tears, hers and mine, and frenzied kisses along cheeks and foreheads and necks. The report of her death had been a mistake. A misunderstanding. She was alive, and had been struggling to get back to me after discovering Joe and Bill in the hospital and hearing the story of how despondent I had become in thinking that I'd lost her.

"God, I was so worried that I'd get here too late! That you'd do something careless and get yourself killed before I could get back to you! Don't you ever do that, do you hear me? You fight no matter what! Promise me!"

With her safely in my arms again, it was an easy promise to make. It was only when I was being shaken awake again and told that we were moving out that I realized it had all been just another dream. She wasn't there. Still, the promises I'd been making to her in my dreams felt all the more real. For the first time in a while, I looked up at Luz, who had roused me, and surprised him by speaking.

"Now where are we going?"

"Uh, well, back to France. I hear we are headed to hold the line in Hagueneau. Easy Company to the rescue, you know."

"Yeah," I acknowledged, stretching and following him toward the trucks. "Easy Company to the rescue, battered but never beaten."

I didn't have to like it, but I had promised her that I would keep going. These dreams of her appearing or returning to demand that I fight to live were ever-present when my eyes were closed, and they were becoming more and more vivid. I'd never really been one for thoughts of communication with the beyond, but there was enough in these dreams to leave me wondering if she really was trying to tell me something. If I died, would this spirit of her die with me? For some reason, the thought of her dying twice struck me hard, twisting my heart and jumbling my thoughts as the trucks rumbled on.

* * *

 **** PERCONTE POV ****

There was no way that I was going to lay in a bed while my buddies got shipped off to hold the line in Hagueneau, wounded ass or not. I'd landed in the hospital after being wounded in the Easy Company tradition at Foy, and I was up and walking around to get my legs back as soon as they'd finished treating me. I visited familiar faces that were headed home from their own wounds, and others who might be back after a longer recovery, and I found someone with access to a jeep that could get me back to Easy just as soon as I could find a way to slip out. I thought I had everything figured out, but I never expected what would happen when I got into that jeep and by the time it caught up with the company, I was all smiles.

"Aww, come on loudmouth, give the kid a Hershey bar!" I prodded, standing in the doorway where George Luz was trying to fight off the small crowd of men angling for the newly delivered rations. Johnny Martin greeted me warmly, making a remark about my going AWOL to get back, and I noticed that Webster had decided to grace us with his presence again and was looking decidedly uncomfortable. He must have finally gotten tired of propping his foot up at the replacement depot. Well, if he thought me showing up after my shot to the ass was something, I was about to blow his mind.

"Hey, where is Bull?"

Joe's face fell a bit. He'd already told me about this idiotic patrol the brass had come up with, and I took his grim look to mean that Bull had not improved much since I'd last seen him.

"Where do you think?"

"No better?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I'm going over there."

"I don't know if I'd do that, Frank. You know how he gets when anyone tries to talk to him about Chris…"

Bull unexpectedly entered the room from the door on the opposite side of the room and everyone grew uncomfortably silent. He glanced around and set his jaw, knowing immediately what we had been discussing.

"Welcome back, Frank. Glad you're okay."

He looked exhausted, still clearly not sleeping well, and his face was grim and sunken. Bull had carried me that day, protecting me as best he could in the chaos after I was shot, but he seemed to lose the will to live after that horrible night in Holland. I hoped to repay his kindness by giving it back.

"The boys say you aren't though, Bull." He levelled a glare at me and Joe sat back on his stool to avoid the explosion, but I just grinned. "I may have something that will help."

"All due respect, Perco, I don't see what the hell you could…"

I glanced over my shoulder, my smile widening at the sound of gasps as a ghost stepped through the doorway.

"Hi, Denver."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

I didn't want to be pissed off at Frank within the first thirty seconds of his return, but he was making it extremely hard not to be. I couldn't figure out what the hell he was grinning at. My eyes followed his to the doorway as a shadow stepped into the room. Gasps came from behind me as my brain tried to make sense of what my eyes were seeing. My heart leapt to my throat, stopped only by my tongue, now thick from emotion. My legs gave way beneath me, and I hit my knees. She met me on the floor. Her face was blurry through my tears, but the eyes were unmistakably blue. By some chance, some twist of fate… some miracle… she was in front of me. I pulled her into a tight hug, relishing the feeling of her arms around my neck again.

"What? How? You were…"

"I know. Frank told me what they told you," she whispered. "They took me away for surgery. I'm so sorry. I was in bad shape and I had no way to write to you. But I'm here now. I'm here and I'm okay."

"The surgery? Everything's alright? Do you even need to be out here? I mean, what if something…"

"Bull, I'm okay. I lost a lot of blood with the internal damage, and they don't think I'll ever be able to have children, but…"

"We can adopt."

It just slipped out. I meant it, but I hadn't really meant to say it out loud. Still, I noticed that while her face did register surprise, it was not one of disgust. Her eyes shone up at me, and she nibbled her lower lip as she smiled. I felt myself leaning forward. I felt her hand on the back of my neck, encouraging me. Then I felt her lips brush against mine.

"Christina!" came a voice from the doorway, shattering our tender moment as the figure rushed forward, pulling her out of my arms and into his own. "Oh my God, you really are here! We thought you were…"

As I listened to her recount the story and watched him explain his ascension to CO of Easy Company, my initial irritation was somewhat tempered by the feeling of relief that this wasn't a dream. It couldn't be a dream, because nowhere in my dream would I ever have allowed Captain Ron Speirs to pull her from my arms. The thought made me chuckle a bit, and he finally seemed to realize that I was standing there. His reluctance to release her back into my hug did not go unnoticed, and I could feel the jealous protectiveness start to rise up from the pit of my stomach. I had just gotten her back from the dead, and in those few seconds before he showed up, I had seen something in her eyes that made me willing to put up a fight. She had been appearing in my dreams. She had been urging me to keep living. She had been a breath away from kissing me like I'd wanted to kiss her for as long as I could remember. She belonged with me, and I'd believe that until she gave me a reason to believe otherwise. I might defer to my Captain in matters of war, but Christina Green wasn't an objective. She was my future, and if death couldn't keep us apart, I'd be damned if any man was going to get in the way. Even the notorious Ronald Speirs.


	19. Chapter 19

**** CHRISTINA POV ****

My happiness at having returned to my company was tempered upon learning of the patrol set for that night. When the result of that patrol was the death of another young paratrooper, by walking into the flash of his own grenade in his rush to get things over with no less, the frustrations that had fled with the first glimpse of Bull's face began to return. Only Winters' slick evasion of a second patrol, and the knowledge that at least he, if no one else, considered the consequences of grandiose shows of unnecessary force, gave us comfort. It seemed that the heroic defense of Bastogne, a well-circulated story I had already heard much about by the time I returned, had made Easy Company the brass's chosen vehicle for showing off the might and spirit of the American parachute infantry.

It also didn't help matters that things were becoming noticeably and increasingly tense between Bull and Easy Company's newest commanding officer, Ronald Speirs, although neither of them would acknowledge it when I tried to ask. It was Joe who, in his matter-of-fact Frisco tone, finally broke the code of uncomfortable silence.

"I know you know that's about you, right?" he asked, leaning against the wall beside me and nodding toward Bull.

I'd been watching him lean against a truck, talking to Malarkey and Luz for the better part of five minutes, but his wary gaze had not left Speirs, who was standing across the street and talking to Winters and Nixon. He'd smiled and nodded at me when he first came out, and although he didn't notice Bull's withering glare, it was impossible for me not to. I got the notion that he was more than half-tempted to pick up a rock and chunk it at the man, like two adolescent boys in a playground argument.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I just can't figure out why. Nothing is going on between Speirs and I. Not that it matters anyway because Bull and I are just friends, right? But you could cut the tension between them with a knife!"

Joe grinned and shook his head at me, his eyes reflecting amusement at my naivety toward the situation. Men's feuding for my affections was not a concept with which I was familiar. His eyes followed mine to Speirs, who had looked up briefly to smile and wink at me before walking away, and then back to Bull, his shoulders tense at the exchange.

Nudging me affectionately until I looked over at him, he answered, "You're so sweet, Chris. You really are. But come on. Speirs openly flirts with you. Especially in front of Bull. He has a thing for you, and he's a man used to getting what he wants. And you and Bull? Just friends? Come on, BG. You have to know that man feels a lot more for you than friendship."

"Then why doesn't he say...?"

"Really? You haven't noticed how Speirs seems to pop up every time Bull tries to have a private moment with you?"

I started to protest, but then thought better of it. My mind ran through the days since I'd been back, starting at those first few seconds in Bull's arms. It had seemed for a moment that he might kiss me, but Speirs had suddenly appeared and pulled me away. Several times he'd asked if I wanted to take a walk and we'd set off, only to encounter the officer or someone under his directive needing to ask a question or wanting to chat about the weather until Bull grew frustrated or impatient enough to return to our group. Joe watched my face as realization dawned, but before I could speak, Speirs was calling for us to load up. We had orders to Berchtesgaden, Hitler's oasis in the Bavarian Alps. Joe and Bull moved to help me into the back of the truck when his voice came again from behind me.

"We have room for you in our jeep, Christina. It's quite a trip. Might be easier on you."

Joe's eyes showed smug knowing. Bull's eyes showed defeat. He started to retract his hand, but I reached up and took it, glancing over my shoulder at the Captain.

"Thank you sir, but I'll ride back here with my boys. I've missed them while I was gone."

"You sure?" he needled, flashing me a brilliant smile and a wink. "You can ride beside me. Probably be more comfortable than the back of this truck."

The men around us stood stock still, watching the exchange as if they knew much more than a jeep ride was at play here. Had this really been about concern for my well-being, Roe or Nixon or Winters would have insisted upon my riding in the jeep. They said nothing, quietly watching to see how the situation played out. For his part, Speirs was in no position to order me to ride in the jeep if the others weren't expressing any concern, as that would have clearly given away his motive. He was left trying to charm me again, and Harry Welsh stood beside him, smirking as he recounted their previous conversation regarding my affections, of which I was still unaware.

"Yes sir. I'm sure. I trust the men to take care of me back here," I answered, watching the approving smile cross Joe's face out of the corner of my eye. "And Sergeant Randleman will make sure that I'm perfectly comfortable."

I think Bull lifted me into the back of the truck with one arm.

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

With the satisfaction I felt in that moment, I could have probably flown to Berchtesgaden. I planted her feet in the back of that truck and she smiled up at me, the twinkle in her eye revealing that she was perfectly aware of the hidden agenda behind Speirs' unconventional offer. She might be intrigued by the man, but she was certainly not one to be used as a pawn in anyone's display of masculinity and magnetism. She'd have done the same thing whether she wanted to ride with him or not, just on sheer principle. It didn't stop me from enjoying the moment. I could no longer see his face as he climbed into the jeep in front of us, but I hoped his teeth were grinding.

I found corner of the truck bed to tuck myself into, and pulled her down into my side so that she could rest comfortably against me and I could minimize the rattling of the truck on her petite frame. She nestled into me as the rest of the group settled in around us, and I pressed a kiss into her hair. Maybe if the others dozed off on this long trip, I'd finally get the chance to have the conversation I'd been trying to desperately to have since she'd returned. The need to say the words aloud was almost burning now. To know that, even if she fell for Speirs and I was shattered, at least I had put myself out there. I didn't want to lose to him by forfeit. She deserved to know all of her options.

The much-needed conversation never materialized on that truck ride though. There were too many eyes and ears, and I wasn't one for an audience. As expected, although I resolved to take the first chance once we were done moving, my opportunities were carefully managed by the reigning Easy Company commanding officer. She was, at his insistence, beside him when the Eagle's Nest was liberated, while I was quickly assigned to guard duty at Hermann Goering's house. Apparently, Winters had come upon something that needed to be protected, and Captain Speirs thought that I was just the man for the job.

Harry Welsh, who was apparently firmly entrenched on my side, would later report that they had met absolutely no opposition upon seizing Hitler's pride and joy. In fact, he and Nixon had been sipping the Fuhrer's champagne and watching Speirs tour Christina around the place "like he was the damned Snow Prince of Bavaria," leaning in to murmur in her ear as they took in the stunning views from the terrace overlooking the Alps. When Winters told them that the Germans surrendered and the war in Europe was over, he lifted her and spun her around, "right out of some stupid Hollywood movie."

By the time he'd finished and the contents of the house I'd been guarding were revealed, I was more than a little happy to see a room full of alcohol before me. The men set about to partying it up, but I was drinking with a purpose and my way through a third bottle of champagne by the time she found her way back to the company.

"Hello there, Snow Princess," I slurred.

"Huh? Snow Princess? That's a new one."

"Snow Princess," I repeated, turning the words over slowly. "Snow Princess up on the mountain, dancing and drinking with Speirs the Magnificent. Mr. Wonderful. Prince Charming."

"Okay, how much have you had to drink?"

"Just a couple three bottles, I think."

"No wonder."

"No wonder what?" I demanded, suddenly indignant.

"Bull, you're babbling about who knows what, and…"

"I am not! You don't think I see what's going on here?"

"What, Denver? What's going on here?" she asked impatiently, which further fueled my drunken rage.

"You! You and Speirs! I'm just some bodyguard you keep around to… to…" I sputtered, unable to put together a coherent thought.

Her eyes flashed warning, and the noise around us stopped as all eyes focused on our increasingly heated argument.

"You're drunk," she said softly. "You need to stop right there before you say something that you regret."

She was right, of course, and a rational man would have listened. But I was far from rational. All of my frustrations, fears, and feelings pooled together with the alcohol in my system and, taking advantage of my compromised filter, came pouring out into a room full of shocked friends.

"No! You use me to keep you safe and comfortable, knowing how much I love you, and then you run off and cuddle up to him at the first available opportunity! What'd you do? Use me to make him jealous? Well, I hope the two of you are very happy together."

She said nothing. She just shook her head at me sadly and walked away. In retrospect, I knew then that I had seriously crossed a line. Hindsight often has perfect vision though, and in the moment, I simply shrugged and swilled from my bottle while others stared incredulously at me. It wasn't until I woke up the following day that I realized my error in judgement.


	20. Chapter 20

**** SPEIRS POV ****

You would have needed to be living under a rock not to notice the gulf between Christina and Bull Randleman since V-E Day. The bond that had looked so strong upon her return, and after the hellish discovery of that camp, now appeared to have been fractured.

Rumor had it that a drunken Randleman had said some pretty rough things. I didn't know exactly what they were, but I knew they had something to do with me, and I knew that she'd refused to discuss what had happened with anyone. He'd also, apparently, been avoiding her like the plague. His shame was plainly written on his face, so I was certain that his failure to apologize was more a result of not knowing what to say than of not wanting to say he was sorry.

No matter. The result was the same. There was a space between them, and I would gladly try to fill it. I found her staring out at the Austrian countryside and handed her one of the early June wildflowers from the field she was looking onto.

"Hey Tiger, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Christina. Give me a little credit. What happened with Bull?"

"You already know, sir."

"It's Ron, and yeah, I heard some rumors that he got drunk and said some things."

"Okay, so then you already know."

It was clear that she had no desire to relive the conversation, so I let it go and let the silence hang for a moment before slipping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a one-armed hug. The gesture seemed to undo her completely and she buried her face against my chest to sob.

"Sweetheart, it's all going to be okay. You'll be okay. You have friends. You have me."

* * *

 **** MARTIN POV ****

"I'm telling you, Bull, man to man. You have got to find a way to make things right with her. You're miserable. She's miserable. And Speirs? He's drooling right now. Malarkey saw him talking to her the other day. He was sitting where you should have been. He had his arm around her where yours should have been. She was crying on his chest. Is that what you want? Just because you're too scared to face her and apologize?"

He wouldn't make eye contact with me, but I knew that I was getting through. This uncomfortable silence between them had gone on long enough. They loved each other, and if he didn't make it right, I knew he'd regret it. Speirs certainly wasn't going to waste an opportunity like this.

Seeing that crack in his façade pushed me to talk to some of the other men. I'm sure he was fed up with us by the time the anniversary of D-Day rolled around, but we were in his ear at every available opening. The world just didn't seem to spin right with those two not speaking.

"Fine! Fine, Johnny! I'll talk to her after formation, okay? Let's go get this over with. Everybody is going through with the plan for Shifty, right?"

Shifty Powers was one of the most well-respected men in the company, and his sharp eyes and shooting had saved so many men that when we found out he was fifteen points shy of being able to go home before we were redeployed, we all got together and decided we had to do something. It just wasn't fair that one of the best soldiers in Easy, and an original Toccoa man, should be punished simply because he'd never been wounded. There was to be a lottery on the anniversary of D-Day, allowing one man from each company to go home, and when we heard about it, we all went to our platoon leaders and had them pull our names out of the drawing. Shifty Powers would win his well-deserved discharge.

It was this formation that we were headed to when Bull finally gave in and agreed to talk to BG. We had a pretty good idea that we would be redeployed to the Pacific, and maybe the idea of heading into yet another battle without her forgiveness was more than he could handle. Whatever the case, I was relieved to hear that he wanted to make things right with her. At last, maybe, the tension bubble would pop and we could go back to a somewhat normal life. As the formation broke up, we all took the opportunity to congratulate Shifty and then I watched Bull go off in search of his girl.

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

"Hey, Johnny, have you seen Bull? I really need to talk to him and I'm going to have to head out to the checkpoint with Chuck in a little bit."

This standoff between us had gone on long enough, and after the exchange I'd just had with Speirs, I really needed to see Bull and straighten things out between us once and for all. John looked puzzled by the question.

"I don't know. Last I saw him was right after formation and he went looking for you. Did you not see him?"

"No," I started, but then spotted my target across the crowded courtyard. Pushing my way through bodies, I called his name. "Bull!"

At first, I thought he hadn't heard me because he began to walk away, but then he made eye contact with me and I knew he could see me motioning for him to wait. He ducked his head and turned away just as I caught up to him and grabbed his arm. Despite the uncomfortable silence that had been between us, the chill in his tone took me aback, as did the use of my first name.

"What do you want, Christina?"

"I need to talk to you. I'm tired of not talking to you. This is ridiculous! I know you were drunk that night, and that you didn't really mean…?"

"Didn't mean that you were looking to move up the ranks? That is what you're doing, isn't it? Not that I can blame you. I mean, Speirs is a good-looking, smart guy. Better for a girl like you than, say, some blue-collar, enlisted loser from Arkansas."

"Bull, what the hell are you talking about? I don't want…"

"You know what, Christina? I don't really want to talk about this anymore. Let's just do our time and go home. Then we don't ever have to see each other again and we can pretend that the last few years were just something we did to pass the time during the war. Until then, you stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours. We have to share a company, but that doesn't mean we have to talk."

"Wha…?"

My mind had already been reeling from my conversation with Speirs moments earlier, but now it felt like my whole world had been spun wildly out of control. He didn't give me the chance to protest. He finished his gruff dismissal of me, turned his back and walked away, leaving me standing in stunned, painful silence. Johnny Martin, who had seen the exchange from a distance, got to me just as the torrent of tears began to fall. Through my sobs, I blubbered the gist of my exchange with Speirs, and then told him how Bull had dismissed me without so much as letting me speak. By the time he had calmed me and put me in the jeep with Chuck Grant, headed for the checkpoint, he was seething.

"Take care of her, Chuck. She needs to be in good shape so that Bull can grovel when she gets back."

"Well," Chuck muttered, "If Bull is still being a stubborn ass, maybe I won't bring her back."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

The guys had been on my case for a while about making up with Blue, and even though I knew they were right, I really didn't want to hear it anymore. I hated closing my eyes and seeing the hurt on her face after I had said those horrible things to her. I wasn't a man of many words anyway, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to come up with any to let her know how truly sorry I was. Still, John knew just what buttons to push to break through my passivism.

Speirs, he said, had been taking every opportunity to talk to my Blue. He'd started meeting her on her walks, slipping an arm around her on the pretense of comforting her and, I'm sure, letting her know that he was there for her since I wasn't. I'd provided him with just the kind of opening that he loved to exploit. It had felt for a long time that we were at war for her heart, and Lieutenant Ronald Speirs was a master in battle.

When the company was dismissed and I had congratulated Shifty on his well-deserved discharge, I at last swallowed my pride and went in search of Christina. We were going to be redeployed. We didn't know when, but we had all seen the films of the brutality that was happening in the Pacific theater. I didn't want to go to another foreign hell with the love of my life hating me, especially over saying things that I knew weren't true. She'd been clearly favoring and reinforcing her relationship with me before I'd put my foot in my mouth, especially in front of Speirs, and I began rehearsing my apology in my head as I walked toward the building where Chuck Grant told me she had gone.

"Blue," I mumbled to myself, tasting the words to figure out what she would think of them. "I'm so sorry. I know that my drunken jealousy was completely misplaced and…"

My rehearsal died in my throat when I looked up. Through the doorway stood the love of my life. My Blue. The woman who, moments earlier, I'd been preparing an apology for over my needless anger… and she was kissing Ronald Speirs.


	21. Chapter 21

**** SPEIRS POV ****

As I stood there, looking into her face and clutching her small hands in mine, I was surprised to feel the slight flutter of butterflies in my stomach. After the formation had been dismissed, I'd seen her congratulating Shifty Powers on his discharge and asked to speak with her privately. I hadn't been particularly thrilled when I found out that she had removed her name from the lottery, and I wanted to express my frustration and desire for her to take the first available opportunity to go home.

"Look, Christina, you've seen the films about what is going on over there. I'm sure that I can find a way to get you transferred so that you don't have to go to the Pacific. I can talk to Major Winters, and…"

"Sir…"

"Ron."

"Ron, I'm not interested in a transfer. I've been with Easy since the beginning, and I'm not about to leave them now. If that means going to the Pacific, then that's what it means."

I couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. She took great pride in her place among the men of Easy Company, and there was no question that she had earned it. We all wanted the war to be over, but she was not about to leave the men that she loved for a transfer. I had known that would be her answer. She held none of the fear that so many of her counterparts held when it came to me and, although always respectful, she wasn't afraid to contradict me on things like this.

My thumbs rubbed nervously across the backs of her hands as her eyes burned into mine. After months of attraction and intrigue, I found myself unable to resist the urge any longer. I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers for a moment, pulling away just far enough to see her eyes searching mine, and smiled at the wide-eyed surprise on her face. My fingers drifted down to her lower back, coaxing her closer as I moved to kiss her again. Tiny hands met my chest, pushing me backwards before I could reclaim her mouth.

"Ron, wait."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"What are you doing? What is this?"

"Kissing you. I'm attracted to you, Christina. I thought you'd have realized that by now. I thought you felt that attraction too."

She looked uncertain, torn, but even as I tried to lean in again, she held firm.

"I do! I did! I mean, yeah, I'm attracted to you in a way, but…"

"But?" I pressed, and she looked up at me, her sad eyes silently answering my question. I sighed. "But I'm not Bull."

"I'm sorry. I know things are bad between us right now, but I'm not over him. How could I be when I still sleep beside him every night?"

"But you could try, right? I mean, I can handle helping you get over him."

"Ron," she confessed softly, "I may never get over him."

I stared into her eyes and, at last, finally saw what the others had been seeing for more than two years. He was the love of her life, and even if they never spoke to each other again, nobody, even me, was ever going to take the place of Denver Randleman.

I smiled and shook my head, asking quietly, "I never really did stand a chance, did I?"

Her apologetic gaze said I hadn't. I chuckled and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head in an attempt to reassure her.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. He can't avoid you forever. The heart always wins."

* * *

 **** MARTIN POV ****

I was confused when BG approached me looking for Bull. When we'd broken formation, he was going to look for her. I saw him through the crowd, and I saw her trying to get his attention and, finally, catching up to him. Although I was too far away to hear the conversation, it appeared to be fairly one-sided, and the more Bull talked, the smaller and more broken Christina looked. Just a half hour earlier, he'd been ready to kiss and make up, but that certainly did not appear to be what was happening. What on Earth could he possibly be saying to her?

I started through the crowd, reaching her as he walked away. The look on her face was one of absolute shock and resignation, eerily reminiscent of Buck Compton's face when Bill and Toye had been hit. When she saw me, however, she collapsed into a flood of tears, allowing me to pull her into a tight hug.

"BG, what in the hell is going on? What was he saying to you?"

The story came out in gasping sobs, and my blood began to boil. All I could think was that he had somehow seen Speirs kiss her, but even so, it wasn't as if he had the right to be angry. Besides that, had he bothered to listen, he'd have learned the rest of the story. His jealousy was going to destroy his chance at happiness.

By the time Chuck Grant came to pick her up so that they could head out to the checkpoint, she had calmed down considerably. Chuck was obviously concerned to find her waiting for him with red, swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, so I gave him a quick rundown and then, convinced that she was in good hands, set out to set Bull Randleman straight.

I saw him talking to Malarkey and started in that direction, yelling as I went.

"Bull! Hey! I need to talk to you! Right now!"

I'd just reached him when Lieutenant Speirs, having spotted Christina leaving on the jeep with Chuck, was at my side as well. Perfect timing.

"What's going on with Christina? Is everything okay?" I sent a hard stare at Bull, who smirked. Speirs spun on him, venom in his voice. "What the hell did you do?"

My eyes didn't leave Bull's as I answered for him.

"Basically, sir, he told her to pretend that the last two years didn't mean anything. Wouldn't even give her a chance to speak."

Speirs almost exploded.

"You what? She came to talk to you and you sent her away?"

Bull's flat tone annoyed me even more as he responded, "Sir, with all due respect, you are the last person I want to talk to about this."

"I don't care! You're making a big mistake, Sergeant Randleman."

Now it was Bull's turn to blow up.

"What mistake? I saw you two kissing! What mistake am I making, sir? I'm trying to bow out with some dignity here! Just because, after all this time, I don't want to hear her try to let me down gently, I'm making…"

Don and I took a step back as the two men faced off, fists balled at their sides, each trying to talk over the other.

"She pushed me away, you idiot!" Speirs declared, his words seeming to take a moment before they sunk into Bull's ears.

"Idiot? I don't…! Wait, she what?"

Speirs' voice lowered now, almost amused at Bull's misplaced jealousy as he explained, "She doesn't want me. Her heart is already taken." Bull blinked in disbelief, and the lieutenant added, "Should've stuck around to spy a little longer, Sergeant. I'm the one who got let down gently."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

I had to squat down on the ground to maintain my balance as Speirs' words washed over me. She'd been trying to tell me that it was me. That I was the one she wanted. That she'd pushed him away once and for all. She'd been trying to tell me that she loved me, and I'd told her… I tried not to finish the thought. The Earth seemed to spin beneath me as my own words crashed back into my mind. My stomach lurched as I saw the look on her face again.

"Where is she, Johnny? I need to talk to her. I need to apologize and explain that I… Oh my God, what the hell did I do? John, I've got to see her. Right now."

I stood and took a step in the direction I'd last seen her, but John put a hand on my shoulder and shook his head.

"You can't, Bull. She's already headed out to the checkpoint with Chuck. They left a few minutes ago, after I got her calmed down."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. John tried to reassure me, telling me that I could talk to her as soon as she got back, but that would be hours from now. I didn't know if I could live with this feeling for that long. I was more than a little tempted to walk to the checkpoint and beg for her forgiveness. Instead, I sank down onto the steps in front of our OP. Joe Liebgott, stepping out of the building for a smoke, glanced around at the grim faces, all staring at me with concern.

"What'd you do?"

"Mouthed off to Blue about Speirs."

"I thought he told you that she shut him down?"

"He did. After I'd already talked to her."

"Bull, what'd you say?" Don filled him in and he dropped his head in disappointment. "Fuck, Bull. Why didn't you just shoot her? It probably would have hurt less."

The group stood around me for a while, leaving me to my thoughts but continuing to talk among themselves. I heard only bits and pieces. My mind was digging for the right words, trying desperately to form an apology that sounded like something that she might accept. I was still staring off into space when Talbert came sprinting up to us. Snippets of his urgent statement wormed their way into my awareness.

"…shooting… Chuck… brain surgeon… house to house search…"

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"The jeep came up on some drunken trooper. He'd already killed a few guys. Wanted gas for his jeep, but decided to take off in the dead guy's. When Chuck tried to stop him, he started firing. Chuck was hit in the head. Speirs and Roe are trying to find a brain surgeon."

"Blue? What about my Blue? Was she…? Is she…?"

"As far as I know, she is alright but she's with them, trying to keep Chuck stable. Speirs wants us to split up and take the other two witnesses on a house to house search until we find this son of a bitch."

I jumped to my feet and we all followed him inside, quickly dressing and arming ourselves before breaking into search parties. It took just a few hours to track down a drunken replacement from I-Company. He was well into an Easy Company beating when the door burst open and Lieutenant Ronald Speirs came in. The ice-cold glare on his face could have made the Devil put on a coat.

"That him?"

I confirmed it and he approached the already-bloody shooter, demanding to know the whereabouts of the weapon. The replacement was either still drunk, or had not yet heard the legend of Ronald Speirs, and his flippant response earned him a crack across the cheek with the butt of the lieutenant's pistol. Then, the barrel was between his eyes and all the air left the room. Men took a step back. Some turned their heads. None of us doubted that the lieutenant was capable of pulling the trigger, and none of us moved to stop him. Only Ronald Speirs can say what stopped him.

As he walked away, Tab asked, "Grant's dead?"

At the question, his body relaxed and he turned back toward us, answering in a tired voice, "No. Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it."

A sigh of relief circled the room as the shooter was led away and into the hands of the MPs, and men slowly began making their way back to their own bunks. Now that the crisis was over, everyone was exhausted. I still needed to talk to Christina though. As if he'd read my mind, Speirs appeared beside me again.

"She's in that room down there at the end of the hall where the officers' rooms are. She needed a place to clean up from the blood, but she should be out of the shower by now. It's private. Why don't you go check on her and take her this clean uniform for tomorrow?"


	22. Chapter 22

**THIS IS IT, WONDERFUL READERS! THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY! I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED IT. BUT, HAVE NO FEAR! I HAVE ALREADY POSTED THE FIRST CHAPTER OF ANOTHER SPECIAL REQUEST SHORT STORY ABOUT BUCK COMPTON ("YOU CAN'T WIN 'EM ALL") AND AM WORKING ON STORIES FOR LUZ AND TOYE. IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE SPECIAL REQUESTS, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME!**

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

I stood at the mirror in my brassiere and underwear, combing my wet hair and silently praying that Chuck would recover enough to live a normal life. We had been through so much as a company during this war, and for him to be shot by one of our own after the German surrender was almost too much to take. Now that the blood was washed away and the adrenalin had stopped surging, my body was showing the signs of exhaustion. My mind, however, was racing. Too much had happened today. I'd been on a roller coaster of emotion, from the joy of seeing Shifty's face when he was told that he could go home to the panic, fear, and anger at having some alcohol-fueled I-Company replacement gun down one of my friends. I'd had the rush of flattery, confusion, and guilt that came from Ron Speirs' confession of attraction, and the gut-twisting, heart-ripping coldness of Bull's words. Even now, I shivered at the thought of them, closing my eyes against the harshness.

The click of the door opening and closing startled me back into the present. Behind me, a large form moved forward into the dim light of the lamp and, in the mirror, I was surprised to see that it was Bull. He placed a clean uniform in the chair by the door and stood, fidgeting nervously as though he wanted to say something but couldn't. He looked around the room, seeming a bit embarrassed by my exposed state, until his eyes finally settled on mine in the mirrored reflection. Still, he said nothing.

At last, unsettled by the silence and still hurt and angry from the day's various painful episodes, I placed the comb on the dresser and turned to face him. He continued to stare at me a moment longer and I found myself blinking back tears. At my display of emotion, he drew deep breaths, his chest beginning to heave with his own as he struggled to hold it in, and took a step forward, suddenly invading my space. I couldn't think with him so close, and I looked down to regain my bearings. My heart was pounding in my ears as we stood there for what seemed like an eternity, centimeters from touching, but careful not do so.

I jumped when a thick, calloused hand tilted my jaw upward, but I continued to avoid his eyes. Slowly, he ran his thumb over the angry red line on my cheek where the doctors had stitched up a cut from the Kraut who had punched me in the barn. I willed my tears away as he brushed the back of his hand along my jawline and down the left side of my neck, leaning into his warmth in spite of my best efforts to fight the urge. His right hand ran along my collarbone, pushing the strap of my brassiere aside and running his fingers along another scar, left behind by a piece of shrapnel from our shared tank explosion.

I leaned back on the dresser, closing my eyes against the touch that was littering my skin with goosebumps. He was so close to me that I could feel his massive chest rising and falling, and I released the breath I'd been holding as he lifted me onto the dresser and pressed a kiss against the scar on my cheek. Keeping my eyes closed, I took my chance to speak to him for the first time in weeks.

"Sergeant Randleman, what the hell are you…?"

A kiss against my exposed collarbone, and I could barely breathe.

"Sergeant."

Another kiss across my cheek as his left hand wound its way into my hair. I put my hands against his strong chest to brace myself.

"Denver, please," I whispered, unsure of what I was asking for as his lips met my jawline.

I pushed gently against his chest, opening my eyes to meet his in the dim light of the room. There was a fire in them I'd never seen before. A look of determination, tinged with a desire that made my heart race.

"Bull?" I asked weakly.

"Blue," he breathed, his voice low, my name coming out like he'd been waiting years to say it.

His lips crashed to mine as I started to speak, and my protest died in my throat at the feeling of his gently probing tongue begging me to return the kiss. I felt his body relax and wrap me up as I surrendered to him, running my fingertips through the hair at the base of his neck. The kiss was slow, a steady burn building in both of us. I could feel his touch on my bare skin as his large hands drifted down my sides to my hips and I shivered, tangling my fingers in his curls and pulling him into me. That low Arkansas drawl whispering against my lips set my skin on fire.

"I've been waiting so long to do this, Blue. So damn long."

* * *

 **** BULL POV ****

There was no way I could have found the words to express what we were able to say with that kiss. Years' worth of emotion came rushing to the surface. Kissing her felt like Heaven. Her soft lips and tongue meeting mine. The pull of her fingers in my hair. The swell of her breasts pressing against me, and the grip of my hands on her hips. I lifted her from the dresser and carried her across the room, the bed creaking beneath our shared weight as I knelt and then laid her back across it.

My body settling across hers felt so natural, and I felt the goosebumps rising on my skin when her hands slipped underneath my tank top and along my spine. I pushed myself up on one arm and reached behind me to pull the shirt off over my head, sighing at the fresh contact as she explored my newly bare chest. One leg hitched shamelessly over my hip as I began to drag open-mouthed kisses down her neck, and I held it there, relishing the grinding pressure of our most sensitive parts against each other, separated only by a few layers of cloth. There was no question that she could feel the effect she was having on me, and I glanced up at her face, enthralled by what I saw. Eyes closed. Mouth sometimes falling open in a soft sigh, and other times with her lower lip pulled between her teeth to suppress a moan of pleasure. She was, far and away, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I continued my journey down her neck and across her chest, following the path down the center of her stomach until I met the jagged scar on her abdomen that reminded me so vividly of the night that I'd almost lost her forever. My sudden hesitance caused her to meet my eyes, and when she realized what I was looking at, she immediately moved to cover it up. I pushed her hand away, tears of regret and relief splashing against her skin and soaking in as my thumb caressed the scar, as though they could somehow heal the damage, both visible and invisible.

"I am so sorry, Blue. For everything. For this. For being drunk and stupid on V-E Day. For being sober and stupid earlier today. I was so scared, and I love you so much, and I just..."

She slipped her fingers through my hair and down my cheek, quieting me. At long last, we were together and we were alone, and with the reality of the Pacific looming over us, we had no idea when we would get another such opportunity. Her eyes said that we would have plenty of time to talk about what had led up to this moment, but that now was not the time. I leaned in and pressed a kiss against the scar before moving back up to her lips. My hands deftly relieved her of the flimsy undergarments, and I sat back up a moment to admire her naked form beneath me.

She blinked slowly, her eyes shadowed with the same desire I could feel burning me to the core. Without breaking our gaze, she released my belt and then the buttons on my straining pants. The act undid the remaining shred of my patience and I lowered myself back down to her lips in a slow pushup, both of us tugging the unwanted garments over my hips as I struggled to kick them free. All at once, we were both naked and I caught her cheek with my hand so that I could look into her eyes.

"Christina, are you sure this is what you want? That I am who you want? Because if…"

My whisper was cut off by her kiss.

"Denver, I love you. Always have. I'm tired of dancing around this thing between us. You're what I want. The only one I want. And if tonight is the only night we ever get, I don't want to waste it."

The next kiss wasn't fevered. It was slow. The heat crept down from our lips toward more intimate parts. Her fingertips drifted up my spine and shoulder blade, and I caught them at the base of my neck, pressing her wrist into the bed beside her head as my teeth grazed her earlobe.

The resulting gasp made me chuckle, and I reminded, "Careful, Blue. Wouldn't want the boys listening outside the door to catch on."

"I'd say I don't care if they hear, but I'm not sure you could make me be that loud," she challenged, grinning up at my shocked face.

After a moment, my own smile crept back across my face. Challenge accepted.

"Be careful what you wish for, Blue."

* * *

 **** CHRISTINA POV ****

He was less than gentle with me, but I wasn't looking for gentle. We'd been waiting for this moment for the better part of three years and right now, all I wanted was to be with the man I loved.

My body had been tingling with electricity since the moment his lips had first touched my skin, but when he finally joined our bodies, it felt as though I'd been struck by lightning. Heat surged through me and I arched underneath him, gasping his name against his chest. His hand released my wrist and intertwined his fingers with mine, finding a steady rhythm against my hips.

He might not have been incredibly gentle, but he was tender. The force of the movements driving our pleasure from us in a steady stream of gasps and moans was counterbalanced by the soft kisses and sweet words that fell on my lips, forehead, neck, and ears. The opposing sensations pushed me further toward the edge of an unfamiliar cliff that I'd only heard of in tawdry stories. I resisted on instinct, but Bull's voice was firm and reassuring.

"It's okay, baby Blue. Let it go. I'm right here to catch you."

The rumbling whisper vibrated through my core, washing me over the cliff in a swirling, powerful wave that was too much and not enough all at once. I felt the cry rising in my throat, but it collided with his groan when he swallowed it with another kiss. His movements grew erratic, and I returned the favor of urging him to surrender to the sensation. He held out long enough to send me careening off the edge again before shuddering with his own release. We were silent for a few minutes, curled up together in the bliss, before he whispered once more into my ear. It was a phrase he would use again in the moments after Winters announced the Japanese surrender, make officially true the day after we stepped foot back in the States, and tell me every day for the next 50 years.

"I love you, Christina Randleman."


End file.
